Good Men
by Jen Martin
Summary: Nelson and Crane find themselves in danger when a secret mission to a Caribbean nation ends in capture. Events transpire that shake Nelson to the core, making him question what kind of a man he really is.
1. Drowned Rats

**Good Men**

"_The good man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better." _John Dewey

_**Chapter 1: Drowned Rats**_

"Pat's been hit," Kowalski yelled. He glanced at his friend as he slapped a new clip into his rifle. Pain creased Patterson's features as he tried to pull himself to a seated position in the bottom of the raft. He looked like hell, Kowalski thought, but at least he was alive, which was a miracle considering the fire they were taking. Patterson had been knocked away from the outboard motor by the force of the bullet and now the raft was careening wildly back toward their pursuers.

Admiral Harriman Nelson dove for the tiller, dropping his pistol as he struggled to bring the raft back under control. "Lee, use the grenade launcher!"

"Got it!" Crane shot a grenade at the boat flanking them to starboard, cursing softly as it exploded too wide to take out any of the men firing at them. It was like trying to aim from the back of a bucking bronco. Beside him, Nelson heaved on the tiller, pulling the raft out of its sharp turn. "We're too slow," Crane yelled. "We'll never make it!"

"Hold on," Nelson commanded, throwing the tiller to the side as a spray of machine gun fire peppered the water where the raft had been only a moment before. He turned for the open sea, anxious to escape the bay before they were cut off. If he could just reach open water, perhaps _Seaview_ would notice their plight and send aid. It was perilous to seek the sea in the darkness, but the risks paled compared to the danger behind them.

The little raft shuddered and lurched, bringing Lee and Kowalski to their knees, but they managed to hold on to their weapons. Nelson braced Patterson with his leg as the crewman struggled to stay upright. Lee shot another grenade from the launcher and this time there were confused shouts behind them. The raft shot forward like an arrow from a bow, leaving their pursuers in their wake.

Crane smiled for the first time that night, a bright, primal light shining in his eyes. The expression faded as his gaze fell on the admiral. Nelson's head was cocked to the side and Crane had half a second to wonder what he was listening to before the sound reached his ears, as well—the unmistakable whistle of incoming ordnance. "Get down!" he bellowed. "Down!" He threw himself on Nelson, knocking the older man into the bottom of the raft, ignoring the admiral's protest. Beside him, Kowalski was covering Patterson. Lee braced for the searing pain of shrapnel tearing into his back as the shell exploded above them. Ears ringing, he could barely hear the staccato burst of machine gun fire that followed. Then silence, sudden and unnerving, fell across the water.

Nelson stirred below him. "That was too close," he grumbled. "Were you hit?" He spoke in little more than a whisper, his voice harsh with worry.

"No," Lee said, incredulously. "No, I wasn't. Ski?" He grabbed Kowalski's sleeve. "You OK?"

Ski lifted his face out of Patterson's hair and nodded, his eyes wide in the moonlight.

"Pat?"

"OK, Skipper," Patterson wheezed. "I just had a graze from before. Nothing new, thanks to Ski."

Nelson made an impatient motion to rise and Crane slid to the side, letting him up. The admiral stared into the darkness, straining to locate their pursuers. Lee applied himself to examining the raft and cursed softly at what he found. A piece of shrapnel had torn into the material just above the waterline, leaving a gaping slash. They were losing air quickly and the damage was too severe to mend. "Sir?" He touched Nelson's sleeve. "Sir, look at this."

The admiral looked over the side and blanched. His reaction confirmed Lee's own assessment. "Pat, Ski," Crane said softly, "break out the life vests. We'll be underwater in no time." As they hurried to obey, he turned back to Nelson. "We could try to start the engine again and head as far out to sea as we can before we go down."

Nelson shook his head, his narrowed gaze still sweeping the water. "No," he whispered. "They're still out there. I don't know why they haven't come for us already, but the sound of the engine would give away our location. We couldn't outrun them before and there's no way we can now with the raft deflating under us."

Lee nodded, shrugging into the vest Kowalski handed him. He took one last look at the hole in their raft. It was larger than his hand and getting worse. The water had already risen above his ankles. They wouldn't last much longer. He turned back to Nelson and was surprised to find him still sitting quietly, unmoving. "Sir, we're running out of time."

Nelson met his gaze and for a moment Lee saw the tormented indecision in his eyes. Understanding hit Crane like a slap of cold water, but he kept his voice calm. "Sir," he repeated evenly, "you need to put your life vest on immediately. Pat and Ski are already wearing theirs."

"Pat and Ski can't answer questions," Nelson said softly, "or be held for ransom to embarrass our government."

Crane grasped the admiral's arm tightly, squeezing it hard for emphasis. "It's too soon to make that call. Put the vest on. We'll worry about the rest later."

Their gazes remained locked for a long moment, then Nelson looked away. He rubbed his hand across his eyes and smiled wanly, as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd been contemplating. "You're right. Of course you're right." He took the proffered life vest and put it on without further comment. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders with it. Despite Lee's encouragement, he could only see two outcomes to their predicament: either they would be picked up, in which case questions would undoubtedly be asked, or they would spend the night in the water with Patterson slowly bleeding out. It didn't take much imagination to guess how that would end. There wasn't a shortage of sharks in these shallow, tropical waters.

Nelson considered himself an optimist but try as he might, he couldn't come up with a scenario that brought comfort.

X X X

Treading water in the darkness, Lee tried to look on the bright side. At least the water wasn't cold: there was no chance of freezing to death. Despite the fury of the firefight, no one but Patterson was wounded. And, as much as he wished the others were safe on _Seaview_, he was glad of his companions. He couldn't think of a more reliable group to be floating in the ocean with in the middle of the night.

The moon shone above them, casting its pale light on the deceptively peaceful scene. The little raft was gone with all their weapons, food, and supplies, leaving no sign that it had ever been. _Seaview_ was perhaps four or five miles off the coast, but it might as well have been a hundred leagues. In the distance, Lee thought he could make out the dim shape of the shoreline. "Admiral!" he hissed. "That way."

Nelson nodded and tugged the rope connecting him to Pat and Ski. They had tethered themselves together before the raft sank. He motioned toward the shore and started to swim with purpose, trying to splash as little as possible. The admiral was certain their pursuers hadn't given up. Colonel Wilson, the dictator of the tiny Caribbean island, was a persistent man and expected the same tenacity from his secret police.

They had gone perhaps 100 yards when the sound of an outboard motor in front of them brought them up short. They treaded water for a moment, uncertain where to turn. Another motor revved behind them and Lee realized they were trapped. Perhaps Wilson's goons had known where they were all the time and were playing with them. He glanced at the admiral. Nelson's features were set in hard, hopeless lines. He shook his head once, briefly. There was nowhere to go.

Several small lights flashed in their faces as the nearer boat approached, cutting back its motor. It was a small skiff, the kind smugglers and drug runners used to navigate the shallow, island coves. The men on board were dressed in black, their features impossible to make out in the darkness.

"Look!" one of them said. "We've found some rats that abandoned the sinking ship." He laughed and threw a rope, hitting Kowalski in the face. "Take it and don't try any tricks!"

Kowalski looked at Crane, waiting. Slowly, the captain nodded. Sighing, Kowalski allowed himself to the pulled aboard. One by one, the others were hauled in. As soon as they were onboard, their hands were bound tightly and sacks were pulled over their heads. Then they were forced to sit in a row against the bulkhead. Patterson moaned softly as their captors pushed him down next to Nelson.

Lee concentrated on keeping his breathing even as he listened to the admiral's low voice soothing the injured crewman. He wished he felt as calm as Nelson sounded. It was hard to draw enough oxygen into his lungs and he hated being blindfolded. It brought back unpleasant memories, too recent to have faded completely. He shivered, partly from the night breeze against his wet skin and partly from his thoughts.

"Skipper?" Kowalski was sitting so close their shoulders were touching. Lee knew he'd felt the tremor that ran through his body and understood the source of his anxiety. "Skipper, I'm here."

"I know," he said, making an effort to speak lightly. "You're practically in my lap."

"No talking!" The butt of a rifle rammed into Lee's ribs, knocking the wind out of him. He struggled to suck in air, but it was too hard to breathe through the sack. His last memory was of slumping against Kowalski, and then darkness took him.


	2. A Strange Prison

**Good Men**

"_The good man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better." _John Dewey

_**Chapter 2: A Strange Prison**_

Nelson drew a deep, gasping breath as the sack was pulled from his head. The heavy, humid air that filled his lungs was as sweet as any he'd ever breathed. Patterson lay in a semi-conscious heap beside him, his face pale. Nelson wondered how much blood he'd lost and how long his wound could go untreated before it became infected. The dousing in salt water had probably done it some good, but a quick glance around showed they'd been deposited in a room that was less than clean.

He'd felt the skiff bump softly against the moorings as they docked, then the quick jerk of a knife severing the rope that tethered them together. They were dragged to their feet and he'd heard Kowalski's quiet but colorful curses and Patterson's moans, but nothing from Lee. He hoped the captain was bearing up stoically and his silence didn't have a darker meaning.

They'd made their slow, stumbling way onto land, guided by their surprisingly jovial guards. Nelson could only conclude their captors had been promised a good reward for procuring such important prisoners.

He thought about the last time he'd been in Colonel Wilson's presence, two days before. It had been a difficult, unpleasant meeting. The team of UN inspectors had questioned Wilson about allegations of stockpiling chemical weapons. Nelson, no expert on the topic, had been asked to attend for a very different reason. Satellite images indicated Wilson had recently constructed a large facility near the shore. Reports from agents hinted that the dictator had found a viable method of extracting gold from seawater. Nelson had been asked to discover whether that was indeed the purpose of the facility. Diplomacy and probing questions were to be the first step. When they didn't yield results, ONI ordered Crane to get the admiral in for a closer look.

Now that had failed miserably, too, and Nelson had been weak enough to allow himself be captured. It was one thing to face Wilson as an unwanted but official guest. It was quite another to be caught sneaking around the island in civilian clothes in the dark of night. The relationship between the United States and its small neighbor in the Caribbean was already tense enough. Nelson hated himself for making it worse. And he hated involving Lee. Between the two of them, they protected a wealth of scientific and military secrets just waiting to be mined. To their friends cooling their heels anxiously at the rendezvous point, it would seem Nelson and Crane had simply disappeared without a trace. Wilson would be free to take his time finding out everything he wanted to know.

_We'll worry about the rest later_, Crane had said. _There's a fine line between "later" and "too late_," Nelson thought, looking around the small, dark room that was to be his prison. If he cared for Lee a bit less, perhaps he would have done his duty. But his death would have left the captain alone with Wilson. He couldn't bring himself to take the easy way out and leave Crane holding the bag, even if that was what ONI expected.

Nelson looked up at the guard who stood above him, calmly folding the sack he'd removed from the admiral's head as if it were a piece of laundry. The man seemed to be an ordinary islander, dark skinned with a wiry strength Nelson knew he shouldn't underestimate. His captor smiled down at him. "Where are the others?" He wasn't in a position to demand information, but he didn't care. The game was up anyway.

"The big one's over there." His guard gestured to the corner, where Kowalski was slowly rousing himself. "The hurt one's lying on your foot. Try not to kick him when you get up." He grinned at Nelson's stormy expression.

Nelson felt his heart skip a beat as he realized only the three of them were in the room. "Where's our companion? What have you done with him?" He surged to his feet, ignoring Patterson's moan at the abrupt movement.

"I told you to be careful," his guard chided. "You want to know about Crane?" If Nelson's heart skipped before, it did a jig this time. He fell back in shock, bumping into the edge of a small table. He'd expected Wilson to recognize him, but how did the dictator know Lee? Before he could speak, the guard shrugged. "Boss wanted him. When the boss is satisfied with what he finds out, your captain will be back."

As the man withdrew, Nelson sank back against the table, deflated. If that was the condition for Crane's return, Nelson doubted he would see his captain alive again.

X X X

"We're not just gonna sit here while the Skipper's tortured, are we?" Kowalski asked.

"No, we certainly are not," Nelson said. As soon as the guard left, the admiral dropped to his knees and checked Patterson. The crewman's wound was bleeding sluggishly, not enough to cause immediate worry, although Nelson knew it was painful. "Sorry, Patterson," he said quietly, not sure if the injured man could hear him.

"It's OK, sir," Patterson murmured. "You were worried about the Skipper. I heard everything you said. He's gone, isn't he?"

"We'll get him back," Nelson said with more conviction than he felt. "Ski!"

"Sir?"

"Let's see if we can get our hands untied."

They stood back to back, each trying to unloosen the other's bonds. The ropes were thick and tight, and it was a long while before they began to give. As they worked, sweat rolling down their faces, Nelson and Ski listened to the quiet sounds of the jungle night. At one point Nelson heard a voice raised in anger, followed by silence. At least, he mused grimly, he didn't hear any screams. Not yet.

"Admiral?"

"Yes?" Nelson was sure his wrists were raw as he twisted them again, his sore fingernails digging into the rope binding Kowalski.

"I don't know much about Colonel Wilson, but doesn't this place seem kinda strange to you?"

"Now that you mention it," Nelson grunted, "it does." He felt the rope begin to give and flexed his wrists again. "It's not a prison." He cast his eyes around the room as he worked. In addition to the small table, there were a number of chairs and a couple of cots in the corner with mosquito netting hanging over them. "It doesn't even seem very secure."

"That's what I was thinking. And they didn't search or separate us. Even Marcel's men were more thorough than these guys. Isn't Wilson supposed to be a pro?"

"That's his reputation," Nelson said. He wiped his face against his shoulder and gave a final, desperate pull. Kowalski's hands came free and he turned and braced Nelson as the older man stumbled. Released from his own bonds, it was easy for Kowalski to finish untying the admiral.

Nelson hurried across the room to Patterson's side. He checked the crewman's pulse while Kowalski quickly and efficiently untied him. "Easy," Nelson murmured. "We'll get you out of here."

"Don't worry about me, sir," Patterson said without opening his eyes. "Just get the Skipper."

"You can count on it." Nelson said, resting his hand on the injured man's shoulder. "Ski, do you see anything that could be a weapon?"

"Not yet." Kowalski prowled around the dark room, peering into corners and hefting a chair to check its weight.

Pushing himself to his feet, Nelson went to the door and gently tested it. It was locked but made of such flimsy wood he felt certain he and Kowalski could break it down if they had to. The sound of feet approaching made him draw back, signaling the crewman to suspend his search. They moved to the shadows on either side of the door, ready to pounce as soon as it opened.

The door swung inward and in the sudden flood of light, Nelson and Ski saw Crane walking slowly and unsteadily between two of Wilson's men.

X X X

The guard on Crane's right side turned and looked at Nelson disapprovingly. It was the same man who had removed the sack from the admiral's head. "If you jump on me, your captain goes down," he warned. "I don't think he can stand on his own right now. It's up to you, though," he shrugged.

Nelson abandoned any attempt to rush the guards as he and Ski moved swiftly to Crane's side. The admiral gently touched Lee's face, lifting it for a better look. The captain's eyes were only half-open. His lip was split and a dark bruise spread across his cheekbone. Although he was unbound, Nelson had to agree with the guard's assessment: Lee looked like he would fall over at any moment. His anger rising, the admiral wondered what other injuries he would find when he examined his friend.

"Put him down on the cot," he ordered, his voice rough.

"It's OK," Lee said softly. "I can walk."

"He says he can walk," the first guard said.

"He's lying," said the other, a massive man whose bulk filled up the doorway. "I'll bet you two dollars American."

"Cot!" Nelson roared.

"It's a deal," said the first guard, and they both released Lee at the same moment. Nelson and Ski, taken by surprise, didn't have time to catch the captain before he crumpled on the dirt floor at their feet.

"Why, you…" Ski growled.

The first guard eyed Crane disdainfully. "I should have known better than to put money on this one. He didn't last long with the boss, either. Spilled. His. Guts." He toed Lee's side gently to emphasize each word.

"I didn't even hit him all that much." The large man shook his head sadly, then appealed to Nelson and Ski. "Try to do something with him, will you? The boss wants to see him in the morning and it's gonna go best if he's cleaned up. We'll be back soon. OK, got it?"

They turned and left, locking the door carefully behind them. When they were gone, Nelson and Kowalski stared incredulously at each other. The admiral shook himself, trying vainly to make sense of what had just happened. "Probably drugs," he said, returning his focus to the captain. "Check his arms for punctures. I'll look at his neck."

Crane stirred weakly as Ski pushed his sleeves up. "No drugs," he slurred, pushing the crewman's hands away. "I never touch the stuff." He tried to sit up, then moaned and sank back, abandoning the attempt.

"Lee," Nelson took the captain's face in his hands and searched his eyes, his expression serious. "Did you talk? We have to know. What did you say?"

"I told him about the gold," Lee said. His eyes drifted shut again.

Nelson inhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. That was it: the beginning of the end. "Lee," he said, his voice pained, "how badly are you hurt? What did he do to you?"

Crane opened his eyes at the concern in the admiral's voice, visibly trying his best to rally. "I'm not hurt at all. Well, not enough to matter," he amended. "I just shouldn't have had that third cup of rum. Not on an empty stomach. Bad idea." He let his head drop back and closed his eyes again.

"I don't believe this," Nelson said. "I don't believe it!"

"Well, it was either drink the rum or arm wrestle with Wind, and he bragged about crushing his last opponent's hand." Lee yawned, wincing as the motion stretched his damaged face. "Since I knew we were safe, I thought it was better to be drunk than maimed. I'm going to try for the cot now." He pushed himself to his knees, then wobbled and fell forward onto his elbows.

Wordlessly, Kowalski picked the captain up and half-carried, half-dragged him to the cot. Carefully, he eased Crane down onto it.

"What do you mean, 'Since I knew we were safe'?" Nelson said, refusing to let go until he understood what was going on. "How can we be safe when we're Wilson's prisoners?"

"We're not. We're being held by Lord Hurricane." Lee focused with difficulty on Nelson's face. His expression was vaguely hurt. "I didn't forget my duty. I wouldn't. They'll take care of Pat, don't worry. Try to rest." He closed his eyes again.

"I feel like I've fallen down the rabbit hole," Nelson said to no one in particular. "Who the hell is Lord Hurricane?"

"My father," said a voice from the doorway.

Nelson spun around to face the newcomer. He had been so focused on Crane, he hadn't noticed the guards had returned. Between them stood a boy about twelve years' old, watching him with dark, doubtful eyes.


	3. Child Soldier

**Good Men**

"_The good man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better." _John Dewey

_**Chapter 3: Child Soldier**_

The boy moved quickly to Patterson's side. Like the guards he was dressed in black and he carried an old, battered leather bag under his arm. His bare feet made no sound as he crossed the dusty floor. "Is this the one Crane said is hurt?"

Kowalski nodded. "Will you run and get a doctor for him? He needs help as soon as possible."

"I'm the doctor," the boy said, not even glancing at them.

"Now, just a moment," Nelson began. He stopped as the boy looked up at him with cold, unblinking eyes. The admiral regrouped and changed his tack. "Are you sure you want to try this? Maybe someone just a little older..."

The child cut Patterson's sleeve away, baring the wound. "This isn't very difficult. A month ago I had to stuff a man's guts back into his belly. He lived two days. Storm, I need some light over here! Wind, bring hot water and some cloths—as clean as you can find."

The guard who had spoken with Nelson first came at his call and stood at his shoulder with a kerosene lantern. The large one left and returned with a steaming bowl, which he placed on the floor next to the child's dirty feet. The boy washed his hands thoroughly, then looked up at Nelson and Kowalski. "Hold him."

"Do you have something you can give him for the pain?" Nelson asked.

"I'm not wasting good medicine," the boy said with a sniff. "Do you know how hard it is to get supplies?"

"You little…" Kowalski began, but Nelson laid a restraining hand on his arm and shook his head.

"Patterson will manage. Hold his arms." Nelson leaned over the injured crewman. "Pat, can you hear me? This young man is going to take care of your wound. Here's my hand."

The admiral wished Patterson would lose consciousness while the boy cleaned and stitched the deep gash in his upper arm but the crewman remained awake, struggling to keep back the moans that fought their way up his throat. By the time the child finished and wrapped the wound carefully in a strip of cotton cloth, Patterson was exhausted and drenched in sweat and Nelson felt like an angry dog had mangled his hand. Gently, he removed it from Patterson's grip and shook it, wincing at the hot, prickling sensation as blood flowed back into his fingers. There was a nudge between his shoulder blades and he looked around to see the guard called Storm holding a cup. "Crane didn't drink all the rum," he said. "Give this to him. He needs it."

Nelson nodded his thanks and took the cup, lifting Patterson's head. As the crewman drank slowly, the admiral's gaze fell on the large guard. He'd crossed the room and was standing next to the cot where Lee lay motionless. Nelson's jaw tightened as the man lifted Crane's hand and examined it closely. "Look," he said to the boy, "do you see how fine his bones are? I could have broken them so easily." He shook his head, regretting deeds of mayhem left undone.

Kowalski was on his feet in an instant, but before he could intervene Crane blearily opened an eye. "Go away, Wind," he muttered. "Whatever you want to do to me can wait until I'm awake." He drew his hand out of the guard's and rolled toward the wall, turning his back on them.

Storm laughed, a deep, rumbling sound like summer thunder. "I'm starting to like you, Crane—just a little! Maybe I'll bet on you again sometime, after all."

"Why don't you bring them some food, if you like them so much?" the boy said pointedly, washing Patterson's blood from his hands.

As the guards withdrew, Nelson turned his attention to the child. "You don't like us, I take it?"

The boy shrugged. "I don't trust white men. You're all liars with secret plans. I watched Crane while Lord Hurricane questioned him. His voice said one thing but his eyes said another." He regarded Nelson closely. "You're the same." He held the admiral's gaze for a moment with his still, expressionless eyes, then looked away. "It doesn't matter. Lord Hurricane made a deal with Crane and we'll obey, but I'll be watching your captain. I'll be watching all of you." He stood as Storm and Wind returned with trays of food. "You should know," he said, "I've killed bigger men than that one." He gestured to Kowalski.

"I'm sure you have," Nelson said smoothly, his voice stopping the boy at the door, "but tell me this: are white men the only ones who keep secrets?"

The child's hand rested for a moment on the latch, unmoving, then he opened it and walked through without looking back.

"Don't pay any attention to Cloud," Storm said, setting the tray down beside Kowalski. "He's had a hard time of it since our doctor got it. He idolized Doc—followed him everywhere. There's an evil spirit holding the boy now." He uncovered simple dishes of rice, root vegetables, and fish, gesturing for them to eat. Nelson propped Patterson up while Kowalski carefully spooned rice into the wounded man's mouth.

"Be easy on Crane," Storm continued, "even if he did sell you out. The boss really didn't give him any choice. Tough luck for you, good for us."

"Crane better be alive in the morning," Wind said darkly. "If you take him out, Lord Hurricane will take you out."

"What do you think…?" Kowalski began, but Nelson cut him off with a quick glance.

"We won't be too hard on him," the admiral said, "but I'm not promising he won't feel our displeasure."

Wind grinned. "Good. Don't mess him up too much. Promise?"

"I'll try to control myself," Nelson said drily.

Satisfied, the two guards nodded to each other and rose. "Sleep," Storm said. "We'll be back in the morning for Crane."

Wind turned at the door. "Just don't break his hand, OK?"

X X X

Nelson woke to dappled, green light filtering through chinks in the walls and someone gently shaking his shoulder. He started, snorting, and opened his eyes to see clear amber ones regarding him closely. "Sir?" Crane was squatting next to him, his expression quiet and cool. Only the uneasiness in his eyes betrayed his anxiety about the events that transpired the night before. "I see they took care of Pat," he said before Nelson could speak, "and they fed you, didn't they?" His gaze took in Kowalski, snoring lightly in the corner.

The admiral nodded. "Our captors seem to think you've done something worthy of us taking you apart." He let the sentence hang between a statement and a question.

"Ah." Crane sat back on his haunches. "Yes, I can see why they'd think that. I'm sorry I woke you, but we have to talk before they come back."

"I'd like an explanation," Nelson admitted, "but before you say anything, tell me if you're really all right, and if you're going to continue to be all right when they take you to this Hurricane again. The truth, please, and credit me with the intelligence to know the difference between it and empty reassurances."

Crane smiled. "I'm fine, really— a little sore, but fine. Wind packs a powerful punch."

"Who are these people? You act as if you know them?"

"I do," Lee said simply. "Hurricane, Storm, and Wind, at least. The four of us shared a prison cell in the capital six years ago. I was on a mission for ONI at the time, posing as an American arms dealer. The three of them were political dissidents." His eyes grew distant as he remembered. "Three days. Three days we were together. I didn't think we'd get out alive, but some of Hurricane's men helped us escape. They ran one way, I ran the other." He shrugged. "Hurricane's gathered more men since then and harasses Wilson whenever he can, fighting a guerilla war. His men have even infiltrated the secret police. They had an operation planned for last night and we got in the way. They took out Wilson's boats as they'd intended, but were curious about who we were and why Wilson wanted us, so they picked us up. Storm recognized me in the water."

"Hurricane still thinks you're an arms dealer," Nelson said, suddenly understanding as the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place.

Crane nodded. "He wanted to know where my boat was and demanded I give him the guns I was running." He smiled wanly. "When I told him I didn't have any, he became… upset. He's a brutal, desperate man."

"And he let you feel his displeasure." Nelson reached out, almost touching Lee's cheek before drawing his hand back.

"They're dangerous people," Crane said. "Even unarmed, Wind killed three men when we broke out of prison. They were going to nail my hands to the table unless I talked." He looked away, unwilling to see the horror in Nelson's eyes. "I told them Wilson has found a way to extract gold from seawater. I told Hurricane I was here to find the facility and steal the gold." He glanced quickly at Nelson.

The admiral recognized Lee's expression, although he'd rarely seen it on his captain's face. It was the look of an uncertain child confronted by a stern parent: _Did I do the right thing? Are you ashamed of me?_

"Well," Nelson said softly, "I'm glad to have you back uncrucified." He gave Crane a reassuring smile. "Don't worry; I would have done the same. The situation's not as bad as I feared. We can work with this."

Crane swallowed, relieved. "That's what I thought, too. We'd lost our raft, our supplies, and Pat needed medical care badly. The mission couldn't go forward without help. Hurricane offered it, as well as guides to lead us overland to the facility. In exchange, he gets the gold we find."

"And if there is no gold?"

"Then we're in trouble," Lee said, "but until then, we're reasonably safe. Hurricane will keep his part of the bargain."

"I take it this bargain was sealed with a few cups of rum?" Nelson raised his eyebrow.

Lee grinned sheepishly. "Hurricane likes to be entertained, one way or another. I'll play court jester if I have to, if it keeps us alive."

"And what part do I play? And Kowalski and Patterson?"

"Hurricane can't find out who you are." Crane's expression became serious again. "If he gets even a hint of your real identity, he'll drop the gold scheme and hold you for ransom for millions of dollars, or demand _Seaview_. And we can't let him know I'm anything other than an arms dealer and soldier of fortune." Uncertainty crept back into his voice. "I told him you're my hired crew, just a bunch of work-a-day sailors promised a share of the gold."

"That's why Storm assumed we'd be furious with you," Nelson said. "He thought you'd traded our share of the profits to save yourself."

"And here I was counting on that gold," Kowalski drawled from across the room.

"How long have you been awake?" Crane said.

"Long enough, Skipper." Kowalski sat down at the table and ate some cold rice with his fingers. "Thanks for the food, sir, and for making sure Pat got some help. Things looked pretty bleak last night." He cast a relieved glance at Patterson, who was sleeping quietly on one of the cots.

Just as Lee started to reply the door of the room swung open, revealing Storm and Wind. The big man grunted approval to see the captain alert and on his feet. "Lord Hurricane is ready for you, Crane," he said. He frowned at Nelson and Ski. "Why're you so happy? You're poor men now."

Nelson shrugged, schooling his features to indifference. "Rich or poor, it doesn't matter as long as we're all alive." It was easy to sound convincing, since he truly meant it.


	4. Lord Hurricane

**Good Men**

"_The good man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better." _John Dewey

_**Chapter 4: Lord Hurricane**_

"I'd like to bring my men with me," Crane said. "They have a right to know our plan."

"They don't have a right to know anything," Storm said, "and the plan is what Lord Hurricane says it is. All they need to do is follow orders and keep their mouths shut. Why do you want to make trouble?"

"I've bargained away their profit and agreed to a venture that could get them killed. I owe them something." Crane crossed his arms on his chest and eyed Storm levelly.

"You want to take it up with Wind?" Next to Storm, the big man shifted in anticipation.

"If I have to."

Storm shook his head at Crane's stubbornness and was about to retort when Cloud, silent as always on his bare feet, came up behind him. The boy scowled. "Lord Hurricane sent me to find out why you're taking so long with Crane."

"He wants to bring his men."

Cloud shrugged. "Let him. My father didn't forbid it." He unslung the rifle he was carrying on his shoulder and Nelson wondered briefly if he was big enough to shoot such a large gun accurately. He decided it would be best never to find out. "Go on." The boy prodded Crane with the barrel. With an expression that wavered between annoyance and amusement, Lee allowed himself to be escorted out into the sunlight. Kowalski and Nelson woke Patterson and gently pulled him to his feet, supporting him between them as they followed.

While Kowalski explained the situation to Patterson in low tones, Nelson looked around curiously as they passed through the camp, trying to take in everything—the placement of the buildings, the number of men, the guerrillas' defenses. Although the only soldiers they'd met were the two guards and Cloud, it quickly became apparent Hurricane's operation was much more substantial. Groups of women gathered together cooking over open fires and a number of young, sullen men lounged under the trees, playing cards. The buildings were small and flimsy, hemmed in on all sides by the jungle. Nelson surmised Hurricane had to stay one step ahead of the official government forces and couldn't afford to settle in one place too long or too openly.

Almost before he knew it, he was being ushered into the shady interior of a shack similar to the one they'd been held in since their capture. Whatever Nelson had expected Lord Hurricane to be like, he couldn't have anticipated the man who stood before him. In his spotless white shirt, tie, and wire-rimmed glasses, Hurricane looked more like a university professor than a revolutionary. The admiral dropped his eyes, but not quickly enough to keep the rebel leader from noticing his astonishment. Beside him, Patterson and Kowalski were staring openly.

"It's always amusing to see men's prejudices exploded," Hurricane said. His voice was soft, but there was an edge to it that set off warnings throughout Nelson's body. Behind the glasses the man's eyes were like his son's: cold and hard.

"Don't pay any attention to them," Crane said. "They don't get out much." He leaned carelessly against the wall. "Let's get this show on the road! Do you have a good map of the northern shore?"

At a gesture from Hurricane, Storm came forward and spread a map on the table. The rebel leader and Crane pulled up chairs and pored over it together while the others waited uncomfortably in the center of the room. Crane glanced up after a moment and frowned. "Don't just stand there, Harry! Get a chair for Pat."

"Aye, sir." Nelson pulled a chair over and deposited Patterson in it. After he got the crewman settled he looked up to see Cloud watching him. He remembered the child's suspicions and his promise to keep a close eye on them all. Whatever the boy's faults, he was nobody's fool. Nelson found himself smiling slightly as he returned the child's gaze. Cloud sniffed and turned his back on the admiral. He studied the map over Hurricane's shoulder, careful not to lean on his father's chair.

"Wilson's facility is here on the bay, only a few miles from where you picked us up. We never got in that far." Crane made a small circle on the map to mark the location. "You've probably seen it."

"I have," Storm said. "I didn't know what it was for. I thought maybe that dog was making chemicals for weapons."

"He may be doing that, also," Crane said. "If he's using a chemical process to extract the gold from seawater, he could certainly be working with other, more dangerous, compounds, too." His eyes strayed to Nelson as he spoke. The admiral was looking at the floor, but Crane knew from his stance he was listening intently.

Hurricane ran his finger across the map, considering. "It's not far by water, but they expect trouble from the sea and will be on heightened alert after last night. We'll go through the jungle and come in the back door."

"How long will that take?" Crane asked.

"My men could do it in two days. With you slowing us down, I think three is a more realistic projection."

Crane nodded in agreement. "Pat won't be able to travel too quickly."

"That one?" Hurricane pointed at Patterson. "That one's not coming! He's staying here."

Patterson cast a quick, desperate look at Crane, but it was unnecessary. The captain's face was already falling into obstinate lines. "I'm not leaving him behind."

"_You_," Hurricane said, coiling away from Crane like a snake preparing to strike, "you think you are in a position to say what you will and will not do?" He wasn't a large man but when his voice rose, it filled the room.

Crane's eyes darted toward Wind, who had taken a step forward. Although he'd never doubted Lee's word, Nelson realized for the first time the true danger of their situation. Crane had shielded them, making light of the beating he'd taken even as he warned them of Hurricane's temper. Now the admiral was experiencing firsthand the capricious threats of violence Lee had been contending with since their capture.

"We made a deal," Crane said calmly, "and that deal included my men. All my men. Once you've gotten your gold, I'm meeting my boat and we're out of here. I can't traipse back through miles of jungle just to pick up one man and I'm not leaving him in this country by himself."

"You're such a caring captain," Hurricane observed.

Crane shrugged. "It's not good business to the leave anyone behind. I make a point of returning to Miami with the same number of people I left with— cuts down on family members seeking revenge. I don't like the thought of someone's disgruntled brother stabbing me in the dark."

Hurricane smiled and sat back, regarding Lee with amusement. "Still trying to ruffle your feathers up and give orders like you're the boss, aren't you? But you're just a coward at heart." He leaned forward and slapped the captain's cheek. The sound reverberated through the small room. "Very well," he said, "you can bring your man along, if it makes you happy." He turned to Patterson, Kowalski, and Nelson. "You don't know me yet, but Crane knows me. I have to teach him who's in charge and I suggest you observe and learn. He's been your boss so far, but now I'm your boss and you'll do as I say. Isn't that right, Crane?" He slapped the captain sharply on the other cheek. Kowalski made a low sound in his throat, but held his place at Nelson's side.

"Yes, that's right," Lee said softly.

Hurricane lifted his hand to strike him again, then changed the gesture at the last moment and patted the captain on the cheek. "Good man," he said. He turned to Wind and Storm. "Bring us some food. These men are hungry and need breakfast before we leave!"

While Hurricane was busy giving orders, Nelson stole a quick glance at Crane. Lee's lip quirked up in a faint smile. When the admiral looked away he saw Cloud standing motionlessly behind his father, watching them.

X X X

They set out at mid-morning. Crane and his men were joined by Wind and Storm, as well as Hurricane, who had changed into crisp U.S. Army surplus camouflage. Four more of Hurricane's men, each carrying rifles and extra supplies, were to accompany them as well. As they were getting ready to leave, Cloud hurried up. The boy was in camouflage like his father and had found a pair of oversized boots. He had threaded a leather strap ran through the handles of his medical kit, allowing him to carry it on his back.

Crane shook his head when he saw him. "Hurricane, you can't be serious about bringing your son on an operation this dangerous?"

"He's a soldier and our doctor," Hurricane said, not even glancing at the boy. "That makes his presence necessary. It's not your concern."

They set off in single file, the men in front clearing their way with machetes when the undergrowth became too thick. When they stopped at midday to eat, Crane finally had a chance to speak with his men. He settled on the ground next to them and took a swig from his canteen. "OK, Pat?" he asked softly. "I'm sorry to drag you through this."

"It's better than staying behind," Patterson said.

"How's the arm?"

"Hurts, but not too much. I guess that kid knows his stuff after all." Patterson looked over to where Cloud was sitting by himself. A piece of fruit hung from the boy's hand, forgotten, as he watched a butterfly draw nectar from the flowering vine above his head.

"He watches everything we do," Nelson said softly.

"I know," Crane said grimly. "We'll have to be careful. Ski, no matter what happens, no matter what Hurricane does, I need you to stay cool."

Kowalski nodded. "Aye, Skipper. We've been through some rough patches and I've kept my temper. I'm not going to lose it now."

Crane clapped him on the shoulder. "See that you don't. I'm depending on you."

They marched all afternoon—hard going through pathless jungle. It felt like they'd been walking for miles, but Nelson knew they hadn't covered nearly that much ground. His muscles ached and he sank down gratefully on a stump when Hurricane called a halt, wiping his forehead on his sleeve.

"You're too old for this." Cloud was standing nearby, observing him dispassionately. The boy was barely sweating and seemed impatient to move on. "You must be very poor, or an ex-convict who can't find other work, to be doing this at your age."

"I'm a sailor, child, not a bushwhacker." Nelson took a small sip from his canteen. Hurricane had said they would cross a river and could replenish their water, but he didn't want to risk running out before that happened.

The boy watched him drink, making no move to leave. "Is your heart strong?"

"Strong enough," Nelson said, irritation creeping into his voice. The child sounded like the doctors at the Santa Barbara Naval Hospital. "Look: I'm trying to rest. Why don't you go find someone else to annoy?"

The first hint of expression the admiral had seen entered Cloud's eyes, although Nelson wouldn't have been able to give it a name. "You're brave to talk to me that way," the boy said softly.

Nelson grunted in reply. He replaced the canteen on his belt and leaned on the tree behind him. "You like insects?"

"What?" The admiral had never seen the child off-balance before and he smiled at the boy's confusion.

"The butterfly you were watching earlier: it's called a "Cloudless Sulphur." It migrates long distances over open water. I've seen them crossing the sea, unafraid of the danger just below them." He put his head back, looking into the canopy far above. Sunlight filtering through the branches cast shadows on his face but a beam of light touched his eyes, kindling them. "They're fragile, just as we are. Even a gust of wind could push them into the waves, but they keep going, looking for something new, a better place than the one they left behind. It's instinct, not intellect, driving them, but the result is the same."

The boy looked at him doubtfully. "You don't sound like a sailor."

"How does a sailor sound?" Nelson met his gaze in open challenge and the child muttered under his breath, finally drawing off.

"You're playing with fire." Crane had heard the exchange and squatted beside the admiral. "You're the one who warned us about him."

"I'm just lighting a little flame," Nelson said. His appraising gaze followed Cloud as the boy shrugged back into his gear. He watched the boy adjust the medical kit on his back and swing the rifle onto his shoulder.

"Let's hope it doesn't become a conflagration," Crane said. "You know who's most likely to get burned."

"That thought, I promise you," Nelson said, squeezing his arm, "is never far from my mind."


	5. Cloud's Wish

**Good Men**

"_The good man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better." _John Dewey

_**Chapter 5: Cloud's Wish**_

They reached the river just before nightfall and made camp in the trees near its banks. Too cautious to build a fire, they shared a sparse, cheerless dinner, speaking in whispers as they ate. Although they were still many miles from their objective, both Hurricane and Crane were wary of Wilson's patrols. With only a dozen men in their party, they could hardly afford to alert the dictator to their presence. Crane knew their only chance of breaking into the heavily guarded facility—and in getting out again— lay in stealth, not armed confrontation.

Slowly, silence descended over the camp as, one by one, the men bedded down for the night. Crane, struggling to find a position where no part of his body ached, rolled onto his side, pillowing his head on his arm. Beside him, the admiral was already asleep, completely insensible. Crane doubted he'd even finished eating, he'd been so exhausted. Ruefully, he had to agree with Cloud's tactless observation earlier that day: Nelson was too old for this nonsense. In fact, sometimes Crane felt he was, as well. Too many of his missions in the last few years had gone badly. Wrangel Island had been the worst. He still marveled that he and Ski had made it out alive. This mission was tricky and unpleasant, but it still hadn't descended to the level of the Wrangel debacle. If he could just keep Pat from getting an infection, Ski from blowing up at Hurricane, and the admiral from taking unnecessary risks, he figured they stood a reasonable chance of getting back to _Seaview_ in one piece. Those were a lot of "if's," though. He sighed, rolling in the other direction with so much force he almost bumped Kowalski. The crewman slept quietly, his long body loose. Crane felt himself relax as he watched him. Despite his anxieties, his eyes slowly closed as he allowed himself to be lulled to sleep by the sound of Ski's regular breathing.

X X X

It was still dark when Nelson woke with a start. It took a moment for him to get his bearings, then he sat up stiffly, biting back soft curses as he rubbed his lower back. The moon was bright, its silver glow illuminating the quiet camp. Beside him Lee was sleeping deeply, dead to the world. Lines of worry etched the admiral's face as he watched him. Nelson knew Crane was more than able to handle their current mission, but his captain had only recently recovered from a horrific experience on the _Titan_. Although Lee was bearing up well, it pained the admiral to see him mistreated once again. He wished ONI had sent someone else—anyone else—with him, and that Lee was safe back on _Seaview_ where he belonged.

Alert and restless, Nelson rose and paced around the sleeping bodies, breathing in the lush greenness of the damp, night air. For a moment he thought he was the only one awake, but then he saw Cloud silhouetted on the bank beside the river, his rifle propped against his shoulder. The boy was gazing at the water silently sliding by. He turned, gun in hand, as the admiral approached.

"Easy, child," Nelson said. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I'm on watch." The boy looked up sullenly as the admiral sat down beside him, resting his elbows on his knees. "Why do you keep insulting me?"

Nelson's eyebrow crept up. "Insulting you?"

"You called me 'child' earlier today, too."

"I call you that because it's what you are," Nelson said simply, "and it seems worthwhile to remind you of it. Not a soldier, not a doctor— a child. If the truth makes you angry, well, I can't help it."

"Truth," the boy said bitterly. "What do you know about that? All you do is lie. I don't think you're even a sailor— just Crane's paid thief."

"Is that how you speak to an adult?" Nelson looked at him appraisingly. "You're very clever, Cloud, but hopelessly ignorant and rude. If I were your father…"

"Oh, I know!" The child turned on him in sudden anger. "You'd beat me, wouldn't you? But you're not my father and even if you were, you're too old and slow…." He gasped as Nelson's hand shot out, closing on his wrist. The admiral's expression hadn't changed and he held the boy's arm no more tightly than necessary to keep him from pulling away.

"That's what I mean: it's rude to interrupt when someone else is speaking. It's also bad manners to assume you know another's thoughts when you don't." Nelson studied Cloud's furious face. "Go ahead, child," he said mildly. "All you have to do is call and Wind will take me apart limb from limb. You'd enjoy that, wouldn't you?"

The boy dropped his head, wincing at the unfamiliar pressure of the admiral's fingers on his skin. His breath came fast and he tried to pull his arm free, but it was impossible. Nelson let him stew for a few moments before releasing him. He expected Cloud to run away but the child just sat there, gripping his rifle tightly.

The admiral cleared his throat. "What I was _going to say_, if you'll be so good as to allow me to continue, is if I were your father, I'd see you out of this brutal business. I'd send you to live with a relative or friend in the city, the country—it wouldn't matter, as long as you were safe and could go to school. You deserve a chance to grow and learn. Here, you're surrounded by ugliness. Soon your mind won't have room for anything else." He shook his head. "It's all very well to oppose Wilson—Hurricane has my respect for that—but what he's doing to you is a human rights abuse by any civilized standard."

"Don't insult my father," Cloud said indignantly. Nelson could feel the boy trembling with rage. "He's a great man—a great leader! You don't even know what that means!"

"A great man?" Nelson knew he was entering dangerous waters, but he couldn't help himself. Indignation choked him. "Dragging you through miles of jungle to steal Wilson's gold? What _great man_ values treasure more than his child's life?"

"If you knew how poor we are, how much that gold means to our cause, you wouldn't ask such a stupid question," Cloud hissed.

"I understand why Hurricane needs money," Nelson said patiently, "but I don't understand why he insisted on bringing you."

"I asked to come."

"Why? What is it you want? Adventure? Glory?" The admiral regarded him with gentle mockery.

"No." Cloud's eyes were once more cold and expressionless. "I want to die."

X X X

When he had time to reflect on it later, Crane realized there was no way the soft sound that woke him could have been an ocelot. At the time, half-asleep, he only heard rustling in the nearby jungle and imagined a wild cat was watching him with yellow, unblinking eyes. Then Nelson jostled him to full consciousness. The admiral knelt beside him scanning the darkness, his rifle in one hand and his pack in the other. Wordlessly, he jutted his chin in the direction of the sound. With sinking heart, Crane saw two specks of light moving towards them. He wished fervently—uselessly—for them to belong to an ocelot.

Nelson was off in an instant, rousing Kowalski and Pat. Lee rolled to a crouch, scooting silently to Hurricane's side, but Cloud was there already. Within a few moments the camp was disassembled as the men tried to gather their gear and withdraw stealthily into the underbrush before they were discovered.

They were good men, all of them, but some tasks are too great for even the best guerilla warriors. Crane knew they'd been spotted when a shot rang out. He dropped instantly, searching for its source. The shooter was answered by one of Hurricane's men, who fired back into the darkness. Instantly, the forest erupted with the sharp cracks of gunfire and the bright flare of muzzle flashes.

Kowalski raced up to Crane and threw himself down alongside the captain. "Hurricane's pinned down. He's trying to pull back, but Storm's been hit."

"Damn!" Crane shook his head. "Tell Pat and the admiral I've gone to help Hurricane. They need to stay quiet and try to disappear. If we're separated, tell them to meet us a mile downstream."

"Aye, sir." Kowalski waited for a lull in the fire, then leaped up and disappeared into the darkness. He didn't get far before he came upon Nelson and Cloud, holed up at the base of a tree. Both of them were firing in the direction of Wilson's men. Nelson acknowledged the crewman with a grunt as he appeared behind him. "Storm's been hit," Ski said grimly. "We don't know how many there are out there. Skipper says to pull back and regroup a mile further along, beside the river. I'm off to let Pat know."

Nelson nodded curtly. "We'll see you there." The admiral covered Ski as the crewman slunk forward, searching for Patterson. When Ski disappeared into the darkness and Nelson finally looked around, Cloud was gone. Muttering a low oath Nelson stretched his neck, trying to see where the boy had gone. With horror, he saw him making his way back toward the river. Cloud paused for a moment at the edge of the trees, as if he were gathering his courage, then dashed into the open. For a moment the admiral couldn't fathom his purpose, then he saw the boy grab his medical kit. He'd left it behind on the bank when he and Nelson had heard Wilson's patrol and hurried back to wake the others. Cloud must have realized he was missing his gear when he heard that Storm had been shot.

Nelson held his breath as the boy snatched the bag up and started back. Cloud had only taken a couple of steps when a bullet hit him, spinning him around with the force of its impact. Nelson heard his cry of pain and shock over the din of the firefight. The boy wavered for a moment, then slid down the bank into the water.

X X X

The light of dawn brought scant comfort to Crane. He, Ski, Hurricane, and Storm had arrived at the rendezvous point first, having finally lost Wilson's men. They hunkered down in the undergrowth, tired and dispirited, to await the arrival of the others. While Ski bound the shallow wound in Storm's side, Crane watched Hurricane. The rebel leader's face was closed, expressionless. Whatever he was feeling—anger, fear, concern— he kept closely guarded.

Crane wasn't burdened with the need to appear cool at all costs. He was worried—desperately worried— and he didn't care if it showed. When Pat and two of Hurricane's men stumbled out of the trees, he could have hugged the crewman. Pat fell down beside him, exhausted. "Skipper?" He focused with difficulty on Crane's face. "Thank God you're here. Did Ski make it?"

Crane grasped his arm. "Ski's OK. Where's Harry?"

"He hasn't shown up yet?"

Crane shook his head, feeling a pit open in his gut. "I'm going back to look for him." He reached for his gun but stopped as a rifle barrel fell across his arm, pinning him in place.

"You're not going anywhere," Hurricane said.

"Get out of my way," Crane snarled. "I've taken all I'm going to take. Move your gun or I'll blast it out of your hand."

One of Hurricane's men quickly brought his gun up to cover the captain, but Kowalski was just as fast. His rifle, raised like a bolt of lightening, pointed straight at Hurricane's heart.

"Someone's coming," Pat gasped, breaking the standoff as all guns swung to bear on the newcomers.

Wind and Hurricane's remaining men broke through the brush. The big man was panting with exertion. "Sorry, boss," he wheezed. "I thought we'd never lose them."

Hurricane's eyes narrowed. "Where's Cloud?"

Wind looked confused. "I thought he was with you."

"I'm going back," Crane said again, but Wind shook his head.

"Can't. We've got to move on. There's no way anyone could have been behind us and not be dead or captured." He rested his large hands on his thighs, breathing heavily.

They stood quietly for a moment as the implications sank in, then Hurricane made an abrupt gesture. "If they're dead we can't help them. If they're captured… Cloud won't talk. What about your man? He'll blab, won't he?"

Crane's eyes smoldered and he stood for a moment, uncertain what to do, poised on the edge of the chasm between his head and his heart. Then he pushed past Hurricane, almost knocking him down. Gripping his rifle so tightly his knuckles showed white, he stalked forward through the trees, away from the pursuing patrol. They had waited as long as they could. Any further delay would lead to disaster.

Kowalski cast a last look over his shoulder as he followed, hoping to see Nelson and Cloud burst out of the undergrowth behind them, but the jungle was silent. Swallowing hard, he picked up his pace, falling in right behind the captain. He wanted to say something—anything—to him, but he knew it wasn't the time. Ski shook his head, blinking back tears. He'd been in some bad places with the Skipper, but this was turning into the granddaddy of them all.


	6. a long time dying

**Good Men**

"_The good man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better." _John Dewey

_**Chapter 6: "a long time dying…"**_

Although he was strong for his size, Cloud was a thin child. Ordinarily, Nelson would have found it easy to drag him through the water, but burdened with a full pack, a medical kit, and his boots, he weighed enough to drown even a swimmer of the admiral's caliber.

When Nelson first slithered down the muddy bank to the child's side, he dreaded what he would find. Cloud lay on his side twitching feebly, his clothes soaked in blood. The bullet had struck his hip, but Nelson couldn't spare the time for further examination to see how much damage it had caused.

As the child moaned softly, fingers digging in the wet earth, the admiral cast about anxiously, trying to decide what to do. There was no way he could get Cloud back up the steep bank under fire, which only left one alternative. Ignoring the boy's soft cries of distress, Nelson grasped his shoulders and dragged him into the river. It ran deep and swift, swollen by recent rain. The admiral struggled to keep his footing as he ventured out until the water lapped his chest. This was madness, he knew, but even drowning was preferable to falling into Wilson's hands.

The first things to go were their packs. Heavy with food and extra ammunition, they sank quickly into the dark water. The medical kit was indispensable, so Nelson hooked it around his neck, hoping to keep it as dry as possible. With only the kit, his rifle, and the clothes on their backs, he rolled into a lifesaving sidestroke, holding Cloud securely as he set off downstream. Behind him the jungle still reverberated with gunfire. He fervently hoped Lee could keep Wilson's men busy until he reached the opposite shore.

The midstream current was strong, quickly carrying him away from the fighting. Although he needed to get Cloud to safety as soon as possible, Nelson let himself relax in the river's flow. Slowly and surely, he angled towards the far bank, finally feeling the bottom rise under his feet. He staggered onto the shore, water pouring from his clothes. Kneeling for a moment in the mud, he gathered the boy in his arms and dove into the jungle.

When he was once again in the safety of the deep underbrush Nelson halted, depositing Cloud carefully on the ground. The child's eyes were closed and he seemed to be only vaguely conscious of his surroundings. Hoping he would remain oblivious, the admiral steeled himself to examine what he knew would be a serious wound.

He had just started to unbutton the child's trousers when Cloud came alive and twisted in the dirt, trying to escape. Nelson was amazed by the sudden, vicious energy of his defense. The child's first kick caught the admiral in the thigh, knocking him off balance. "Cloud," he said urgently, "it's Harry. Be still!"

He thought his words would help, but the boy fought harder than ever, pushing Nelson away with surprising force. "Leave me alone," he panted. "Let me die!" In the moonlight his eyes were wild, pain-glazed and desperate.

"Stop this at once! Be reasonable!" Nelson caught the flailing hands in his own, immobilizing them. Using his leg to deflect the child's kicks, he struggled again to uncover the wound.

"Don't touch me!" Cloud tried to roll away, but lacked the strength to break free. "You don't understand!" The cry was low and despairing. "I'm not a boy!"

"I know." Nelson released Cloud's hands and grasped her face, forcing their eyes to lock. "Cloud, listen to me! I know."

"You do?" She went limp then, all resistance abandoned. "How?"

"It's obvious." He flushed as he realized he was pinning her to the ground and quickly moved off, sitting back and running his hand over his face.

She lay quietly, her eyes closed. "You knew the first night, when you asked me if white men were the only ones with secrets."

"I suspected. As I spent more time near you, my suspicion changed to certainty." He looked at her sharply. "How old are you?"

"Eleven." Her voice was emotionless again, flat and hopeless.

Nelson muttered a low oath, one he didn't usually allow himself. "This is Hurricane's brilliant idea, I suppose? How long does your father think this masquerade can continue? Six months? A year at the most?" She made a sound of quiet distress and a thought struck him, simple and horrible. "That's why you're determined to put yourself in harm's way, isn't it? You want to die before you're discovered because the truth will embarrass your father."

"Partly." Cloud closed her eyes, but tears rolled out beneath her lashes. "He wanted a boy so much. When I was born, he decided I'd be one. I want to be buried as Lord Hurricane's son and a soldier. I don't want to live if I have to be a just a _woman_!" She spat the word out like an insult.

"It's not so terrible to be a woman. This can be worked out, your father can be made to realize…"

"What do you know about it? When I was five, Wilson's men broke into my aunt's house. They held her down and pulled her clothes the way you were pulling mine. She was a long time dying…."

"Cloud," Nelson began, "please listen. I know you don't trust me. I've lied to you and I still can't tell you the whole truth about myself. I will someday, I promise." He drew a deep breath, keeping his voice low and steady, trying to soothe her. "I'm sorry I frightened you. I didn't realize I might. I'm good at solving problems, child. An offline computer, a broken engine— these are things I can fix. I don't fare as well with people." In the first light of dawn his face was weary, lined with care, and she could hear her own pain in his voice, reflected back. "If you don't believe anything else I say, please believe I would never harm you. You're a very clever, perceptive girl. Trust your instincts and let me help you. The longer we argue, the more blood you'll lose."

This time Cloud didn't stop him as he carefully bared her wounded hip, moving slowly to keep from alarming her again. "You held that man's hand—Patterson—while I sewed him up," she said quietly. "My father wouldn't have done that." She dug her fists into her soaking shirt as Nelson gently probed the wound. "It's bad, isn't it?"

"Bad enough," he said truthfully, "although it could be worse. It looks like the bullet went into your muscle and exited again." He strained his eyes in the dim light. "I think it missed your hip bone, but it's left a sizable hole. I need to put some pressure on it."

"My kit!" Cloud struggled up, alarmed. "It's still on the river bank."

Nelson shook his head. "No, you held onto it. It was still in your hand when I found you. I'm afraid your supplies are wet and ruined, though."

"Doc taught me to keep everything in plastic bags."

The first genuine smile in two days broke on Nelson's face. He searched the contents of the kit, drawing out a dry roll of gauze. He made a pad and held it firmly in place with the heel of his hand, trying to ignore her pain. "Here," he said, placing her hands on the pad, "you keep the pressure on. I'm going to give you an injection. I think I saw morphine in here." He drew out a syringe and a small vial.

"No, you can't!" She made a feeble move to take them from his hands. "It's too hard to get more."

He pushed her back gently. "This is what it's for." Nelson wasn't sure of the dosage so he erred on the side of giving her too little. All things considered, he'd rather have her in pain than dead.

He waited until the drug started to take effect before cleaning the wound. "Have you ever done this before?" Cloud asked drowsily.

"Once." Nelson swabbed the wound with alcohol, grateful that she barely flinched. "I'm not a physician, if that's what you're trying to find out."

"Did your patient make it?"

"He's living to tell the tale."

She regarded him with bleary surprise. "You?"

"It was during the war," he said, as if that somehow explained everything. "It's not simple to remove a bullet from your own side and stitch the wound." Nelson smiled at her reassuringly. "I imagine I can do a better job this time and give you a slightly less alarming scar." Despite his teasing tone, he frowned as he made the first stitch. Although he'd done his best, the wound was deep and still far from sterile. His efforts might stave off sepsis for a few days, but he feared for Cloud if she didn't receive proper medical attention after that.

He saw her watching him and made an effort to even out his expression. "You did a fine job on Patterson," he commented.

"Doc taught me."

"He knew you were a girl, didn't he?"

She nodded. "Yes, he was the only one besides my father. I got very sick two years ago and he took care of me. That's how he found out." Cloud shook her head, closing her eyes. "I thought he was the smartest, strongest man. I believed in him, but it was all a lie. Just a lie." Tears coursed down her cheeks again and Nelson glanced at her in alarm, not sure if she was gripped by genuine emotion or experiencing an adverse reaction to the morphine.

"How did he lie to you?"

"He always told me to be strong. He said anyone could be strong if he tries. Then Wilson's men got him three months ago. They executed him in the capital. We were watching but there wasn't anything we could do to stop them. Lord Hurricane said it wasn't the right time." Cloud took a deep breath. She seemed unaware of Nelson stitching her wound or of her surroundings. "They made him kneel to them with his face in the dirt. They made him crawl around like a dog, licking the dust off their shoes. And he did those things. He did whatever they said, just like he didn't have any strength at all! Then they shot him." She was sobbing now, her body shaking so much Nelson had to brace her leg to keep it still. Cloud didn't notice. She just kept repeating, "He did what they said and they shot him! They shot him," until she drifted into unconsciousness.

His lips clamped in a thin line, Nelson kept working.

X X X

They slept most of the morning, Cloud in a drug-induced stupor and Nelson propped against a tree, his damp rifle in his hands. As the adrenaline of their ordeal wore off, the admiral realized how hungry and exhausted he was. With a wounded child to care for and scant supplies, Nelson felt more vulnerable than he would have thought possible. It was imperative they move on and find Crane as soon as possible. _If Lee's alive_, he thought grimly. The alternative was a possibility he couldn't bring himself to contemplate.

He rose stiffly, swinging the medical kit onto his back and the rifle onto his shoulder. Then he lifted Cloud onto the other shoulder and set off, following the course of the river.

He trudged through the jungle most of the afternoon, resting frequently. When he halted in the early evening and gently placed the child on the ground, she moaned and opened her eyes, blinking up at him. He held his canteen for her to drink. "There's a little morphine left," he offered.

"No, I might need it later." She looked around, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "We're in a different place." She regarded him wonderingly. "You carried me."

Nelson nodded. "And will again." They were silent then, each looking out into the shadowed depths of the jungle.

"Harry?" Cloud's voice quavered. "Harry, I see a light."

He crouched beside her, his gaze following her pointing finger. In the grayness behind them, two yellow points of light moved slowly and inexorably in their direction, just as they had the night before. _Except_, Nelson thought bitterly, _then we were a company twelve strong, heavily armed. _He looked down into Cloud's worried face. She was enough of a soldier to be thinking the same thing he was: burdened with her, there was no way they could move quickly enough to even hope to escape.


	7. A Moth to the Flame

**Good Men**

"_The good man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better." _John Dewey

_**Chapter 7: A Moth to the Flame**_

Cloud watched fearfully as the lights drew closer, flickering between the trees. "Harry," she whispered, "you've got to go while there's still time. If we try to make it together, we'll both be caught."

He nodded. "I'm afraid you're right. Our options are limited."

"I understand." Her voice held only a trace of bitterness, but Nelson could read the disappointment in her eyes at his ready acquiescence.

"No," he said, "I don't think you do." He handed her the medical kit and his rifle. "The magazine's full, so you have eight shots—that's all. You'll need it to help you get back to Crane. When you find him, tell him I said it was time to make the call. He'll understand. He won't like it, but he'll understand." He searched her face, trying to gauge her resolve.

"Harry, no," she said, finally understanding his intent, but he was already gone, silently disappearing into the underbrush. "Don't do this," she whispered to the emptiness where he'd been.

Nelson moved to the side, deeper into the jungle. He could still see Cloud sitting on the ground where he'd left her, watching him. He hurried on, making less effort to be silent as he progressed further into the trees. Nelson knew he'd succeeded in diverting their pursuers when suddenly the lights shifted, probing in his direction. He heard a shout and the crack of a rifle shot— his signal to run. There was no way he could outpace them—young men half his age who were used to this terrain— but it was imperative he lead them as far away as possible to give Cloud time to escape.

The falling darkness made it hard for him to make his way, but at least it also hampered Wilson's men. For a while he maintained the distance between them, leading them deeper and deeper into the trees. He wondered why they didn't shoot again, then realized it was too dark for them to draw a good bead on him. _Also_, he thought grimly, _they want me alive_.

Gradually, the hunters began to gain on their prey. Nelson could hear them crashing though the jungle close behind and he pushed himself harder, making a last, desperate effort. Then suddenly he was falling, his feet tangled in vines. He hit the ground hard and lay gasping, the wind knocked from his lungs. He kicked futilely, trying to untangle himself, but it was no use.

"Stop! Stop or we'll shoot!"

Blinded by the beams of their flashlights, he shielded his eyes as he squinted upward into their hard, implacable faces.

X X X

There were four of them, two islanders and two foreign mercenaries. As they searched him and bound his hands with one of their belts, Nelson gained a fair idea of how frustrated they were by the chase he'd led them. Winded, his muscles trembling with exhaustion, he didn't try to resist as they marched him back to the place where they'd first spotted him. Nelson tried to look suitably defeated, insisting he was alone, hungry, and without supplies. He thought perhaps he seemed believably pathetic, because they only searched the area perfunctorily before driving him in front of them back to their camp.

Nelson was profoundly relieved they'd failed to find any trace of Cloud. Wherever she'd gone, she'd hidden her tracks well. He walked a little straighter, shoulders back, relieved of the burden of worrying about her safety. That only left one thing to trouble him, but he decided not to think about how long it would take to break him until the moment it happened. He would have his answer in that horrible instant, and that was soon enough.

Three more men waited at the campsite, hunched around a cooking fire. They looked up, eyes lighting in anticipation, as the hunters entered the small clearing. Hurricane's party had bloodied this patrol's nose the previous evening and now Wilson's men had the opportunity to vent their anger.

"We found this old ass wandering by himself in the jungle." The man who had bound Nelson's hands with his belt thrust the admiral into the center of the group. "He was separated from the others last night. He's just a paid hand— says he doesn't know anything about the rebel's plans." He folded his arms across his chest, looking self-satisfied.

"So you think you found something out, huh?" said a man in uniform who seemed to be the leader, taking a bite of bread and chewing thoughtfully as he examined Nelson's face.

The admiral's captor shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"You found out shit." The leader leaped to his feet, advancing on Nelson. "Use your brain! He's older, experienced, American. Looks like a military advisor or contractor to me." He grasped Nelson's collar, twisting it. "Which is it?"

The admiral shook his head. "Neither."

"Who was with you in the jungle?"

"No one was with me."

"Liar!" The leader slammed his fist into Nelson's side, doubling him over.

"Who was with you?"

"No one," Nelson ground out. He tried to dodge the next blow, but it was impossible with two of the others holding him in place.

The leader drew a pistol and leveled it at Harry's heart. "Kneel down! On your knees!" He pulled the slide back and chambered a round.

Nelson could feel the blood pounding in his head and he wished suddenly, desperately, for the man to ask more questions even if he was punished when he answered with lies. That was life— a duel of fortitude and wits fought with fists and fear. But the pistol— the pistol was only death. _Dust to dust._ And then he thought of Hurricane's doctor, Cloud's hero, crawling in the dirt, eating it as the child watched.

The pistol was death, but there were things worse than death. Slowly, Nelson raised his eyes and his unwavering gaze, fixed on his adversary, was as hard as steel. "I don't kneel."

"Get down on the ground!"

"No." Nelson braced himself to be shot at point-blank range, but the man suddenly holstered his pistol, considering.

Relief must have shown in the admiral's face, because his captor laughed. "Do you think I'd just kill you? When you still haven't answered even one question truthfully?" He picked up a stick and drew it slowly through the fire. "I'm going to burn you, old man," he said quietly. "You'll roast until your skin chars and melts. Then you'll wish you'd talked. Then you'll wish you'd knelt. You'll wish your knees weren't raw bones running with blood." He turned to the others. "Strip him."

Nelson thought he had fought hard many times in his life, but never had he fought as he did then. He twisted, kicking, feeling his boots connect only to have his legs captured, the boots torn off his feet. Knives slashed his clothing and the skin beneath it, peeling away layers of safety, until eventually he was left with nothing. His hands came unbound, but it made no difference when he was one and they were seven. They seized his wrists and propelled him, naked and writhing, towards the fire.

His struggles were so frantic, Nelson didn't even notice the first shot. The man holding his right arm simply dropped away and suddenly his hand was free. He felt the second shot like a shockwave hitting his chest. Then the man grasping his other arm screamed and fell to the ground, clutching his abdomen.

There was no time to think. Nelson dove for the fallen man's knife and rolled to his knees, stabbing upward into the leader's belly before the man could draw his pistol. Nelson buried the knife to the hilt, blood streaming down over his hand. Vaguely, over the pounding in his ears, he heard more shots rip through the night.

Wilson's men tried to overpower him, but Nelson tripped one and cut his throat. Another grabbed a stick, swinging it like a club. It connected with the admiral's side but he barely felt the pain. He leaned into the blow, ramming the knife deep into his assailant's body. The man's dead weight bore down on him and he stumbled, falling to his knees in the dirt. He tried to rise but his legs were shaking too much so he stayed where he was, waiting for the next attack, the knife tight in his fist.

Slowly, Nelson became aware of the silence. There were no cries of pain, no agonized movements around him. All was still, and in the quiet he heard the soft, dragging sound of approaching footsteps. He still couldn't see through the red haze that obscured his vision, but he felt a small, calloused hand touch his bare shoulder.

"Harry?"

He didn't move, couldn't answer.

"Harry?" Cloud reached out and gently pried the knife from his numb fingers.

He looked up then, squinting at her in disbelief. "Child." His eyes swept over the scene of carnage, the seven dead men lying around them. "Why are you here?"

"Because you are," she answered simply. "Where else would I be?" Cloud's face was lined with pain and she leaned heavily on her rifle. "You need clothes. Wait here. One of them is about your size."

Nelson closed his eyes, sitting back on his heels, as she went to get the clothes. He drifted vacantly until she returned, pressing the garments into his hands. "You didn't take these off his body?" he asked, horrified.

Cloud shook her head. "He had a pack." She turned away as he put them on, then took his hand as if he were the child. "Come away from here." With Nelson following, unresisting, she led him slowly and haltingly through the dark woods to the river. He crouched in the shallows while she washed blood from his hair. "The killing spirit is still on you," she said quietly, scooping water with her hands.

"Berserk."

"What?"

"That's what ancient Norse warriors called those caught in the grip of battle lust." Nelson looked at her and shuddered. "There's blood in my mouth, Cloud."

Balancing on one leg, she held his head while he retched bile. "You shouldn't have come up and touched me like you did," he said when he could. "I might have killed you."

Cloud shook her head. "I was ready, just in case. I know how fast you are."

"I told you to get away and find Crane, not hide until we came back and follow us!"

She shrugged. "I don't have to do what you say."

Nelson stared at her wonderingly. "If I were your father…"

"Fill the canteens, Harry," she said, cutting him off. "I took some food when I took the clothes. We need to eat and sleep."

X X X

As tired as he was, Nelson carried Cloud for an hour or more before stopping to rest. He felt he had to put more distance between himself and the scene of the slaughter before he could find any peace. Finally he stumbled to a halt, almost dropping Cloud in his weariness. She was already asleep in his arms, her brow furrowed with pain. He laid her carefully on the ground and threw himself down beside her.

Sleep came quickly but it brought unpleasant dreams. Nelson woke with a cry, his eyes full of fire.

"What is it? Did you see something?" Cloud was instantly awake, tugging on his arm.

"No," he shook his head, his mouth dry. "I was just dreaming." He tried to dispel the memories, but they were too vivid. "They were going to burn me, child. I've seen men burn when torpedoes hit their ships. I've seen them jump screaming into the sea."

"Harry, stop!"

"There are so many in the water, like a shoal of fish, twisting in the waves. You can't save them all but they're begging you to anyway. They're trying to swim but they can't."

"Harry," her voice was gentler than he'd ever heard it, "tell me about the stars."

"What?" He blinked, confused by her request, momentarily startled out of the past.

"The stars," she said firmly. "Tell me. You're a sailor—you're supposed to know about them." She pointed through a hole in the jungle canopy. "That one. What's its name?"

"That one? Um… let's see. It's in Cygnus, so it must be Deneb." He shivered, forcing himself to concentrate on her question. "It has an apparent magnitude of about 1." He frowned. "No, 1.25. That means it's very bright, very easy to see from Earth." He drew a shaking hand across his eyes.

"Tell me about another one."

"Another one? Yes, all right." He swallowed hard and pointed to an even brighter star. "Do you see that one close to Deneb? It's Vega, in the constellation of Lyra."

"What's its magnitude?"

He studied her face, turned in wonder towards the heavens. "Zero. It's only 25 light-years away—very close to us."

Nelson's voice grew deeper and calmer as he navigated the night sky, pointing out the brightest stars and reciting all he could remember about them. He freely mixed scientific data with the stories of the zodiac, recounting tales of the mythical creatures and heroes splayed across the heavens.

Beside him, Cloud grew quiet and he thought she'd fallen asleep. He almost felt willing to brave the nightmares again himself when she said drowsily, "I was watching. You didn't kneel to them."

"No."

"I'm glad."

"Cloud," he said wearily, "it wouldn't mean anything if I had. A moment of weakness doesn't erase a lifetime of strength. You should honor your doctor's memory. He never lied to you. I don't know how brave he was or what he endured, but there's one thing you can count on— he loved you very much."

"How do you know?" she whispered.

Nelson didn't answer, but his arm tightened around her, pulling her close. Cloud fell asleep with her head resting on his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart.


	8. Confrontations

**Good Men**

"_The good man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better." _John Dewey

_**Chapter 8: Confrontations**_

Patterson took another bite of tasteless food and cast a worried glance at the skipper. He didn't think a crumb had passed the captain's lips since they'd lost the admiral. Kowalski had tried unsuccessfully to convince him to eat, finally backing off when Crane threatened him with a punishment detail when they got back to the boat if he continued to pester him. Even Hurricane gave the captain a wide berth, as if he suddenly didn't know what to make of the hard, dangerous man who'd replaced the easygoing coward he thought the knew.

To say everything was wrong was an understatement but still the party pushed forward, concerned that Wilson's patrol was close behind. They rested, hidden in the deep jungle, through the next night. Not long after darkness fell, a peppering of shots rang out somewhere in the forest on the opposite bank. Crane leaped to his feet, his face strained. Patterson didn't need much imagination to read his thoughts. The shots, fired in quick succession and followed by silence, could easily signal the execution of prisoners.

Patterson and Kowalski dozed uneasily the rest of the night. Whenever they awoke, restless and dream-plagued, they saw Crane standing silently, his eyes fixed on the jungle beyond the river. At dawn, the captain convinced Hurricane it was time for them to swim across. They were within a few miles of the facility, but Patterson knew the real reason Crane was anxious to reach the other bank. Although the skipper was bound by duty to put the mission first, Patterson foresaw death for Wilson's men if he chanced upon them. The cold, dangerous expression on Crane's face, so uncharacteristic for the captain, worried the crewman. It was the look of one who has relinquished hope and hungers only for revenge.

Using their machetes, Hurricane's men quickly cut some of the undergrowth and constructed a light raft. Just before sunrise, they piled their gear on it and swam across. They were nervous in the water, well aware they were sitting ducks if they were spotted, but all was quiet as they approached the opposite shore. They rested for a few minutes, soaking wet and shivering, as the first light of morning dispelled the gray shadows around them. While the others ate breakfast, the captain paced impatiently, ready to set off. They were just shouldering their packs when Storm appeared at Hurricane's elbow. "Someone's coming!" Grabbing their gear, they quickly spread out into the shelter of the surrounding trees.

Gun at the ready, Crane crouched beside Hurricane in the undergrowth. They waited tensely, listening to the crunching sound of footsteps drawing nearer. After a few moments, one of Wilson's mercenaries strode out of the trees at a brisk pace, a rifle in his hand. The man was of average height, dressed in the uniform of the dictator's Guard, his face shadowed by the brim of his cap. It wasn't his appearance, however, that shocked Crane. It was Cloud's lifeless body, draped across his shoulders like a big game hunter's trophy, that drove the color from the captain's face.

The man stopped abruptly, turning away from them and searching the jungle in a wide arc as if he could sense he wasn't alone. His position afforded Crane and Hurricane a better view of the dead child. Cloud was unbound and completely limp, his clothes stiff with blood. Crane eyes hardened and Hurricane made a soft, feral sound. It was obvious from the stains on the child's clothes he'd suffered greatly before he'd died.

"I want him alive." Hurricane's eyes smoldered.

Crane nodded. "I've got questions, too. I'll bring him down without killing him." Slowly he raised his rifle, aiming for the man's leg.

The man's arm was wrapped casually around the child's thigh, holding Cloud in place. With a slight shift of his shoulders he balanced the body while propping the rifle against his side, freeing his hands to fish in his shirt pocket for a cigarette. He flipped one out of the pack with a deft toss and lit it with a flick of the lighter, throwing his head back as he took a long pull.

Crane's eyes narrowed and he hesitated, his finger tense on the trigger. It wasn't that he wanted to grant a last smoke to the kind of man who would use a child so grievously and then kill him, but there was something familiar about the effortless, dexterous display he'd just observed that made him pause. Unbidden, the memory came to him of a recent afternoon in _Seaview's _lab. The admiral had been talking and smoking at the same time, balancing an Erlenmeyer flask, a cup of coffee, and his lab journal without dropping any of them while Crane watched, secretly impressed and amused.

Cloud's body shifted and the man gently twined his arm around him again with the same easy grace, his face turned close to the child's. And Crane knew—somehow, instinctively—that Cloud wasn't dead.

"Why don't you shoot?" Hurricane's voice was flat and emotionless in his ear.

Crane shook his head slowly, feeling something deep inside his body break, then mend itself almost instantly. "Dear God—it's Harry!"

"Your man's a traitor? He's sold us out to Wilson?"

"No! Don't be ridiculous!" Before the captain could stop him, Hurricane brought his own rifle up.

The man spun towards their raised voices and for a moment Lee could see Harry's eyes bright with alarm, as if he couldn't believe his own carelessness. Hurricane's finger was on the trigger and this time Crane knew he intended to shoot to kill. "Get down!" he shouted, just as Wind grabbed the back of his collar and twisted it, cutting off his air.

Nelson dropped like a stone as Hurricane's shot passed just above his head. Cloud rolled off his shoulders and he tried desperately to break her fall. "Captain? Is that you?"

Crane was too busy trying to keep from being strangled to admire Nelson's ability to remember his role even in a moment like this. "Drop the rifle and stand up with your hands behind your head if you want Crane to live," Hurricane ordered.

Slowly, Nelson rose to his feet, his hands clasped tightly on the back of his neck. His expression left no doubt he understood the seriousness of the situation. "Hurricane…" he began.

"Silence!"

"Just listen…" He broke off as Hurricane buried a bullet in the ground beside his foot. "No, don't fire! You might hit Cloud!"

There was silence then as the rebel leader stared at him. Wind's hands loosened on Crane's collar and the captain took advantage of the opening to pull himself free. "What did you say?" Hurricane breathed.

"Cloud was shot. He's—we've—had a difficult time." Nelson slowly removed his hands from the back of his head, careful to keep them in sight. "I can explain. Just stop firing."

At a gesture from Hurricane, Storm hurried forward and knelt beside the fallen child. Crane could only stare at Nelson, wonder and concern clearly written on his features. The admiral met his gaze and shook his head minutely, as if to say, "_Later."_

Storm looked up, a wide grin on his face. "He's telling the truth! Cloud's alive!" Releasing the breath he'd been holding, Nelson lowered his arms and stepped forward into his men's embrace.

X X X

They laid Cloud on their jackets and Wind and Storm stood vigil, bathing her forehead with water. Nelson and the men from _Seaview_, joined by Hurricane, sat a little to the side. The admiral's eyes kept straying toward the wounded child. "I gave Cloud the last of the morphine this morning," he said. "The wound's become infected, so he's running a fever and is in considerable pain." He smiled wryly. "Not that he'll admit it."

"That's to be expected. My son is strong," Hurricane said.

"Yes, he is." There was a hardness in Nelson's voice, a hint of sarcasm Crane didn't understand. The light blue eyes held Hurricane's, challenging him. Crane couldn't fathom why Nelson would pick a fight now, this close to reaching their goal, knowing the rebel leader's temper.

"Hired hands who keep their mouths shut and do their jobs are rewarded," Hurricane said coolly. "Your job is done and I thank you for it. Cloud is back where he belongs."

The light in Nelson's eyes became dangerous and Crane quickly changed the subject. "What about the patrol?"

"We took care of them."

"It was a sizable group. Are you sure none are still following us?"

"I said we took care of them," Nelson snapped. Belatedly, he remembered who he was supposed to be. "I'm sorry, sir."

"It's my fault," Crane said smoothly. "I shouldn't have pressed so hard. If you say there's no danger, that's good enough for me. The details are unimportant." His gaze strayed to a long, shallow cut on the admiral's forearm and another on his chest, visible where his collar opened. It seemed to Lee the details were anything but unimportant, but he knew better than to ask more in front of the others. Later, when they were alone, he would broach the subject again.

Cloud groaned and stirred, pushing Storm's hands away. Nelson was by her side in an instant, gently holding her shoulders to keep her from trying to rise too quickly. "Harry?" She opened her eyes, focusing with difficulty on his face. "Harry, where are we?"

"Safe." Crane wondered at the rough tenderness in Nelson's voice. He'd been under the impression the admiral wasn't overly fond of the insolent boy. It seemed he'd missed a lot. "We found your father and Crane. Or rather," he smiled, "they found us."

"Lord Hurricane? He's here?" Cloud twisted, trying to see him.

The rebel leader knelt beside her, but didn't touch her. "I'm sorry you were shot. Did you acquit yourself well?"

"I…" she glanced at Harry, "I tried."

"Cloud couldn't have been braver," Nelson said seriously. Once again he held Hurricane's eyes and something passed between them Crane couldn't name.

"Good!" Hurricane grasped the child's arm briefly, then rose and addressed the others. "It's time to move on. Wind, carry Cloud."

"No!" Cloud struggled to sit up. "Harry can carry me!"

This time there was no mistaking the flash of raw fury in the rebel leader's eyes. "I said Wind will carry you. That is an order."

"Child," Harry said gently, "I'm very tired. Wind is stronger than I am. You should obey your father without arguing. He's right… in this." He brushed past Hurricane, glancing at him once more as he passed.

Crane started to follow but Hurricane stepped into his path. "You get your man in line or I will, understand?"

Shaking his head, Crane crossed to where Nelson was helping Patterson into his pack. "You just got a warning shot across the bow."

"I'll get more than that before this is done," Harry grunted. "I don't want you in the line of fire, though. When the shells start flying, back off."

"You know I won't. If I'm going down with you, at least tell me what it's all about."

"A child's life, Lee. That's what it's about." Seeing Crane's bemused expression, Nelson clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I won't jeopardize the mission. I'll steer clear of Hurricane… for now."

X X X

It took them all afternoon to reach the hills above the bay where Wilson's facility, white concrete and gleaming steel, shone beside the calm waters. They stopped then for reconnaissance and planning. They wouldn't try to enter the compound until 02:00, when a new shift of security personnel came on duty. They had planned to disable the motion sensors around the gate and slip in, but Nelson's tangle with Wilson's patrol had been fortuitous in one regard, at least—he had a complete, authentic uniform.

"Can you get in when the guard changes?" Crane asked.

The admiral nodded. "I think so. Wilson hires a lot of foreign mercenaries and I imagine new faces aren't that uncommon." He turned to Hurricane. "Since you don't have a history of working with outsiders, I don't think it will occur to them to be suspicious. Once I'm in, I'll go to the entrance on the north side, disable the alarm and signal you."

"We'll move fast over the open area," Hurricane said. He looked sternly at each man. "Stealth is the key to success. Don't let Wilson's men see you and don't engage them if you can possibly help it. I want the gold and I want us all to get out in one piece. Understand? I arranged for a boat to be waiting on the other side of the bay. They'll be watching for our signal. When they see it, they'll slip in and we'll load the gold and be off." He looked at Crane. "What about you? Where's your boat?"

"Offshore. We'll have to steal a launch and head for our rendezvous coordinates."

"That's tricky," Hurricane said. "You'll only have a few hours until dawn to find it. After that, you'll be sitting in open water in broad daylight with no protection."

"I know, but it can't be helped. My boat is a little large to bring into the bay without attracting attention."

Hurricane nodded. "Very well. Gentlemen, we have a plan." He made a move as if to rise.

"What about Cloud?" Nelson said softly.

"What about him? Wind will bring him. Did you think I'd leave him behind in the jungle?"

"He'll want to fight, but he's in no condition for it."

"That's his decision," Hurricane said. "If he can hold a gun, I can't tell him not to shoot it."

"Can't, or won't?"

Nelson didn't even try to dodge Hurricane's blow. The slap was hard enough to snap his head to the side and leave the imprint of the rebel leader's hand on his cheek. Hurricane drew back to strike again, but Crane caught his arm. "I thought we wanted Harry to get in without arousing suspicion," he said. "If you keep this up, his face will be glowing like a lantern." He held Hurricane's arm until he felt the tension drain from it. The rebel leader glared at them both, then whirled and stalked away, his men behind him. Crane turned to Nelson. "You're giving me gray hairs."

Harry shot him a grateful smile. "They'll make you look distinguished." Lee offered his hand and pulled the older man to his feet. "I'm going to talk to Cloud. If her father won't lay down the rules, I will."

"_Her_ father?" Kowalski asked, when Nelson had gone.

Crane's expression was thoughtful. "I wondered about Cloud. Now I guess we know."

"That doesn't explain why the admiral's risking himself," Patterson said. "Why do you think he's doing it, Skipper?"

"I don't know," Crane replied. But he did know. He'd heard the answer in the tenderness in Nelson's voice and seen it in his eyes.


	9. The Greatest Treasures

**Good Men**

"_The good man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better." _John Dewey

_**Chapter 9: The Greatest Treasures**_

Cloud was lying on her uninjured side, eyes closed, but Nelson knew she wasn't asleep. He sat down heavily beside her and took the compress from her forehead, submerging it in a dish of cool water. While he swished it back and forth he laid his other hand against her burning skin. "I know you're awake. I want to talk to you about the raid."

"Go away." She didn't open her eyes.

He wrung out the cloth and placed it gently against her cheek. "I hoped I was teaching you better manners."

"I don't need them."

"Oh." Nelson's eyes widened. "Oh, I see. You don't need them. Why not, may I ask?"

"Harry, stop." Cloud's voice was weary. "I know what you're trying to do, but it's no use." She looked at him then and her eyes were as dull and expressionless as when they'd first met. "From the moment that bullet hit me, there's been only one way this can end. I'm glad it didn't kill me outright, though." She swallowed convulsively and reached for his hand. "I'm glad I met you. You've given me confidence to face the end." Nelson dropped his head as he listened to her, his thumb rubbing her fingers absently. "I only have a few more hours. Please don't make this hard for me." She looked at him pleadingly. "Please, Harry!"

Nelson's head shot up and Cloud recoiled from the anger in his eyes. "Don't make this hard for you?" he snarled. "By God, it should be hard! Do you think death is easy? Did it seem that way last night with Wilson's patrol? Think— I put myself in their hands for only one reason: so you could live!" He held her shoulders tightly and she gasped at the strength of his grip. "I can read your thoughts so easily! You're going into that building with the idea that somewhere between the entrance and the exit you'll stop another bullet. Your wound's infected anyway and that would be nice and neat, wouldn't it? A hero's death for Lord Hurricane's son!"

Tears overflowed Cloud's eyes, streaming down her face. "What choice do I have? Do you want me to die of gangrene? You think I'm just a child, but I know enough to understand what's happening to me! I'm trying to be brave!"

"Try harder!" Nelson released her and sat back, studying her appraisingly. "You're right, Cloud. I've been thinking the same thing since you were shot—there is only one way for this to end. But the conclusion I've come to isn't the same as yours. I've had enough of your fatalism and defiance. I don't pity you and I don't excuse you. Hurricane may let you do what you please even if it leads to your death, but I won't." He paused and when he resumed his voice was again the familiar one she craved, the one that comforted and explained, patiently answering all her questions. "When I leave with Crane, I want you to come with me."

"Come with you? To America?" Cloud's voice hitched. "No. No, I can't. At least I have honor here. I can't be a gun runner or a smuggler…"

"Child," Nelson said, smoothing away her tears, "do you really think I'm an arms dealer?" He didn't wait for her reply, since it was so unnecessary. "I have a sister," he continued. "She's not married and she's very intelligent and kind. I think you'll get along well."

"I want to be with you!"

"Well," he smiled, "a sailor's life isn't conducive to raising children, I'm afraid. But I promise I'll visit as often as I can. You can go to school and study to be a doctor or whatever you want." He looked at her seriously. "You'll never have to kill again and never have to be afraid of being killed."

"You'd save me? From all of this?"

"No." He shook his head emphatically. "No, you can't think of it that way. It's not within my power to save you. Starting a new life is hard. There will be days when you'll hate me and days when you'll hate yourself. You'll be homesick and confused and angry. But you'll be alive. You'll be safe. And maybe, if you're as strong and brave as I believe you to be, you'll save yourself. Will you try, Cloud? Will you try to live?"

"For you?" She reached out and touched Nelson's cheek, rough with three days growth of beard. He nodded, his throat too constricted to speak, and she saw all she needed in his eyes. "I'll try," she whispered. "I'll be careful on the raid and will do as you say. But I don't think it will be any use. My father will never allow me to go with you."

"Leave that to me," he said.

X X X

They rested until after midnight, snatching a few hours of sleep. When the moon was high and all was quiet below, they rose and checked their gear for the last time. Then Nelson set off down the hillside, silent and alone, and the rest of them followed at a distance. The admiral drew close to the facility, blending in with a group of fresh security personnel coming on duty. Crane watched him light a cigarette and smoke it nonchalantly, as if he were savoring one last luxury before starting a long shift. Then he ground the stub out beneath his boot and slipped inside the gate with the other mercenaries.

The captain sighed, rubbing his chin. "Well, so far, so good. At least he's in." They waited for what seemed an eternity, although it couldn't have been more than a quarter of an hour.

"I'll bet you five dollars he's been caught," Wind muttered as the minutes passed without any sign from Nelson. "Five dollars American."

"Who'd want to bet on a thing like that?" Storm said. "If he's caught we will be, too. You'd hardly be able to collect, would you?"

"Be quiet, both of you!" Cloud hissed. Storm raised his eyebrow at Wind over her head. The big man could feel the anxiety radiating from the child's body as she stared fixedly at the facility, her worried gaze scanning the walls. Suddenly there was a flash of light on the north side of the building, followed quickly by two more.

"Time to move." Hurricane crept forward, his rifle held low and ready, with Crane flanking him on the right and Storm on the left.

From the bottom of the hill, they had to cross eighty yards of open ground before reaching the edge of the enclosure. As they approached, they saw Nelson crouching inside the outer fence, wire cutters dangling from his hand. He gestured them through the hole he'd made, holding Cloud up while Wind squeezed inside after her. She leaned against him, favoring her hurt leg, searching his face with wide, fever-bright eyes. "Mind yourself." The words were so soft she might have imagined them. Cloud nodded, setting her jaw tightly against the pain as Wind swept her into his arms again.

"The alarms were harder to disable than I'd expected," Nelson whispered to Crane as the captain wriggled through the fence to stand beside him. "Everything I've seen is state-of-the-art. I wonder how a two-bit dictator like Wilson is financing all this!"

"PR?" Lee shot a quick glance at the admiral. "A symbiotic relationship: he has the perfect location to do the work and they pay for it?"

"You might be onto something." They slipped through an unmarked side door into a cool, dark garage. Hurricane ordered one of his men to stand guard while the others explored the room. A fan whirred softly in the middle of the ceiling, its blades stirring up dust, but otherwise all was quiet.

"Hey, Skipper!" Kowalski whispered loudly, motioning Crane over. "There's a truck here we could use to get out with the gold."

"Are the keys in the ignition?"

Ski's face fell. "No. I don't see them on the seats, either."

"I can hotwire it," Storm offered. "Boss, what do you think?"

Hurricane took a quick look and nodded. "It will do. Get to work on it." He crossed to the stairway that led out of the garage to the next level. "You," he gestured to Nelson, "you're in uniform, so it won't matter if you're seen. Find out if there are cameras out there."

Crane frowned at the peremptory way the rebel leader spoke to the admiral, but Nelson seemed to take it in stride. Bowing his head, he ducked through the door. They waited nervously until he returned, slipping back through and shutting it firmly behind him.

"Well?" Crane looked at him expectantly.

"There's a short stairway leading to a hall with cameras installed at regular intervals. I walked down it and saw a security room about halfway along," he said. "There's no way to get through unseen unless we take out the guards monitoring the cameras. Then we need to turn them off unless we want to be caught on tape."

"Can you do it?" Hurricane asked.

Nelson didn't answer right away. "I don't want to kill the guards," he said finally. "Not unaware, in cold blood. I will if I have to, but I don't want to."

Hurricane looked at him contemptuously. "You don't have any stomach for killing, I suppose?"

"No, I don't." Cloud opened her mouth, but Nelson shot her a warning glance. "I'd prefer to interrupt power in the hallway. The backup generators will come on, but we should have a few moments to overpower the guards before that happens."

"Do it."

Nelson set to work with Patterson at his shoulder holding a light. Hurricane and the rest waited near the door. After a few moments, Nelson looked up. "Ready?" Hurricane gave a brisk nod and Nelson cut the power. The men immediately rushed up the stairs, moving swiftly and soundlessly towards the guardroom.

Storm looked up from inside the truck. "Not bad. You should teach me how to do that."

"It's not much harder than what you're doing now. I wish I could show you, but I'm afraid time's in short supply." Nelson looked over at Wind, who had stayed behind holding Cloud. The big man looked unhappy to be missing all the action. The admiral grasped his arm. "Come along. Let's see how it's going."

Nelson emerged into the hallway with Wind close behind. They arrived at the guardroom just as Kowalski and Patterson were removing the uniforms of three unconscious men who'd been on duty. Hurricane and Crane turned off all the cameras in their section of the building, leaving the wall of monitors dark. Then they put on two of the uniforms and Kowalski tugged on the other. "Let's get this done before someone notices," Hurricane said.

They moved as quickly as they could down unfamiliar halls, memorizing the turns as they made them. Hurricane and Crane led them into the heart of the facility, a cavernous room with a huge evaporator and condenser apparatus. While Nelson examined the equipment, Crane brought out the camera Hurricane had loaned him and began taking photos. Nelson ran his hand lightly over the condenser and looked up to see Cloud watching him closely as she often had before. This time she returned Nelson's faint smile. He walked over to where Wind had deposited her on the floor.

"How does it work?" He didn't ask why she assumed he'd know.

"Well, seawater is collected in the evaporator over there." He pointed to the gleaming monster in the center of the room. "I don't have enough time to discover how Wilson has managed to make it so much more efficient than evaporators I've seen before. Look at the volume of water it's handling!" He turned and watched it for a moment with what Cloud thought was a touch of envy. "The water is evaporated, leaving the solids—not just gold, but other elements like chlorine and bromine, too. Then the condenser turns the water vapor back to its liquid form and it's put back into the bay. The gold can be extracted from the other solids." He shook his head in wonder. "I'd known this was possible, but I never imagined someone would develop an evaporator efficient enough to make it worthwhile." He stood watching the system at work, hands on hips.

"Wind, I need you!" There was an uncharacteristic note of excitement in Hurricane's voice. His voice echoed through the chamber and the big man hurried across the room to his side. The rebel leader was examining a large safe built into the wall. Wind flung himself in front of it, brought out a stethoscope, and set to work.

Crane leaned over his shoulder. "I had no idea you're a safe cracker."

"I know lots of things." Wind didn't look up, but diligently kept at his delicate work until the safe swung open suddenly, surprising them all. Hurricane reached in eagerly, bringing out fistfuls of gold.

X X X

They made their way back to the garage as quickly as they could, past the dark monitors and down the silent hall. Two of Hurricane's men took control of the gold, but Crane didn't feel cheated. The images safely stored in the camera were worth far more. The captain smiled with grim satisfaction as he contemplated the headaches in store for Wilson. There were sure to be repercussions when the photos were developed and the admiral put them in the right hands. Of course, he mused, Hurricane's rebels getting control of such wealth was bound to cause problems for the dictator, as well. And if the Peoples' Republic was involved, Crane imagined they wouldn't be very happy, either.

Storm looked up when the group burst back into the garage. "Let's go," Hurricane said. He pointed to Crane. "You drive." He jumped in the passenger side of the cab and Storm connected the wires while the rest of them piled into the back of the truck. As the captain slowly inched the truck forward, Storm opened the garage doors, then flung himself in the back with the others as they passed through.

Crane felt sweat prickle his scalp as they approached the gate, but his expression was cool, even bored, as he stopped for the sentry.

"Where do you think you're going at this hour?" The man eyed him suspiciously.

Crane yawned. "Yeah, I know- it's a real bitch, but there's been some rebel activity in the jungle and we've got orders to be up there at daybreak to check it out."

The sentry grimaced. "Better you than me. Those are some tough bastards."

"Well, we don't get to choose." Crane waved to him as he put the truck in gear and slowly pulled away. Once he was out of sight, he doubled-back towards the bay. He grinned at Hurricane and was surprised to see the hint of a smile on the rebel leader's face.

"You're a cool customer, aren't you, Crane? I wonder what an arms dealer wants with photos of Wilson's facility?"

"Maybe I'll sell them to the highest bidder."

"I'll be interested to see where they end up."

"If I can't get a launch and reach my boat, they won't end up anywhere," Crane said.

"We're almost there." They drove down a dark road towards the water and Hurricane pointed to a dock ahead, illuminated in the truck's headlights. "There are always a number of small boats tied up here. I still think you're taking a big risk going to sea in one of them. What if you can't contact your men? It's been days—they've probably given up on you by now."

"Oh, I doubt that," Crane said with a smile. "My right-hand man is likely to be pretty sore with me, though."

"About the gold," Hurricane said sagely.

Crane didn't answer but his smile deepened. He pulled up to the dock and the men in the back jumped out. Storm took out a light and stood at the water's edge signaling across the bay, while Kowalski and Patterson looked for a likely boat to steal. It took them a few minutes before they found a sleek, little skiff with a powerful motor. Hurricane's boat came up out of the darkness just as they were showing it to Crane for his approval.

"All right—let's go!" Hurricane said. "Get the gold onboard and move! Wind, get Cloud."

The big man started toward the back of the truck where Cloud lay watching them. He had only taken a few steps when Nelson moved into his path. He stood almost casually, hands in pockets, but his feet were firmly planted. The scowl on Crane's face matched the one on Hurricane's, and he wondered if the admiral had finally and irrevocably taken leave of his senses.

"What is the meaning of this?" Hurricane said, his voice dangerously quiet.

"I think the meaning's plain," Nelson replied. "Cloud isn't going with you. She's coming with me."


	10. Cloudless Sulphur

**Good Men**

"_The good man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better." _John Dewey

_**Chapter 10: Cloudless Sulphur**_

"Harry, what in the…?" Crane began, only to be silenced by a gesture from the admiral.

Hurricane looked between them as if he were seeing them both for the first time, finally understanding something that until that moment had been a mystery. His scowl deepened. He advanced on Nelson, stopping when they were face to face. The admiral didn't drop his eyes or move a muscle, and Crane knew he wouldn't give any ground this time. Instinctively, he shifted closer to the older man. "My _son_," Hurricane said, "belongs with me." He turned to his men. "Load the gold and wait on the boat. Wind, Storm— you stay."

"If your daughter dies she'll be a martyr to your stubbornness, not to your cause." Nelson regarded him evenly, his expression calm.

"Cloud is a soldier and understood the risks. He wants respect and I give it to him. I've watched you coddle him, trying to undermine my authority, ruining him with your babying…"

Nelson laughed, a humorless snort. "Ruin Cloud? I think you give me too much credit and underestimate her. But I'm guilty of that, too." He watched her struggle to sit up in the back of the truck, her hand clasping her injured hip. "I'm sorry, child. I said you weren't a soldier or a doctor, but that's not true. You're one of the finest examples of both I've ever seen. I'd rather have you beside me in a fight than many men I've known." He smiled at her and was gratified to see a faint smile in return, although it didn't reach her eyes. "She's not helpless or a baby. She's my comrade in arms and I don't abandon wounded soldiers when it's within my power to help them."

"Fine words," Hurricane spat. "Do you think they're sufficient coin to buy my only heir? Do you think I'll give Cloud to the first men who come along and want him? What do I know about you? Maybe you traffic in more than guns!"

"Now wait a minute," Crane said stepping forward, the blood high in his face.

"Lee," Nelson said mildly, "he's a father and it's his right to ask." He turned back to Hurricane. "We're running out of time. Sooner of later someone will realize what happened and sound the alarm. I can't tell you who we are, other than we're no friends of Wilson's and we're sympathetic to your cause. I pulled Cloud to safety when she was shot, took care of her, and returned her to you. She knows me and trusts me. Isn't that enough to convince you of my good intentions?"

"It might be," Hurricane replied, searching Nelson's face, "but I still don't like you. I think you're a hard, arrogant man."

"I've heard those criticisms before and I won't deny them," Nelson said. There was an edge to his voice and Crane knew his patience was wearing thin. "But as long as we're discussing my faults I'll add another to the list, so listen well." He fixed his gaze on the rebel leader and there was lightening in his eyes. "I like to get my own way and I intend to have it. You can order Wind to rearrange my face, or drive nails through my hands, or whatever it is you do when you have one of your tantrums, but it won't change a thing. If I say I'm taking Cloud, then that's what will happen and nothing will prevent it!"

Hurricane's swing was fast, but not too fast for Nelson. Their forearms connected solidly as the admiral blocked the blow and pushed his opponent away. He drew back to throw his own punch in retaliation as Storm, Wind, and Crane surged forward.

"Stop it, both of you!" Cloud swung down out of the truck and hobbled towards them, her face alight with fury. "Look at yourselves! You're like two dogs fighting over a bone! Why don't you ask me what I want? Is this what it means to be a woman?" She threw the words at her father, who looked shocked that she would raise her voice to him. Cloud whirled on Harry. "Is this what it means to be a child?"

Nelson had the good sense to look suitably chagrined, but Hurricane was undeterred. "What is it you want, then? To go to America and be an average girl, chewing bubble gum and going on dates with thick-skulled boys while your people die? You'd trade all your valor for that?"

"No!" Cloud's face was a mask of anguish and frustration. "That's not what I want! You raised me to be your son, but I'm not your son and never was! I want to find out who I really am, to go to school and learn more about the world. Maybe I'll be a doctor—I don't know! Maybe I'll be a scientist or study government." Her expression softened. "Please, try to understand. I want some choice in what my life will be."

Hurricane stood silently, unwilling or unable to reply. Nelson spoke quietly into the void between them. "I'm not attempting to steal Cloud. I only want to give her the opportunity to grow in peace and safety. She'll stay with my sister. Cloud is reaching the age when she needs a woman's guidance. She'll come back someday, I'm sure, and accomplish great things for her country."

"It's too late for me to stop you." Tears glistened in Hurricane's eyes. "You've already stolen my son's soul. Even if he stays and survives, he'll be a ghost wandering the forest in sorrow. His thoughts have crossed the sea and his body won't rest until it follows." He sighed heavily. "Can you really heal Cloud's wound?"

"Yes," Nelson said confidently. "Crane and I work with a fine doctor who has access to the best equipment and supplies."

"Then hurry and go to him." The rebel leader took a last look at his child. "I don't know you." Then he turned to Nelson. "I should be grateful, but I hate you anyway. You've killed my son."

The admiral's expression was unapologetic. "He had to die."

X X X

The little boat skimmed across the waves as Kowalski gave it full throttle, but Cloud didn't notice. She buried her face in Nelson's chest and cried until she had no more tears. Finally, when she felt the lightness of her own emptiness, she raised her head and looked around.

Gray dawn was breaking and the sea was high with the morning breeze. She glanced fearfully at the swells, then at Nelson's face. There was no worry or weariness written there, only a quiet joy she'd never seen before. Then Cloud understood: he was in his element on the sea. He looked confident and strong, like a man who has faced uncounted hardships in an alien land and is finally coming home. He smiled down at her with compassion, his eyes gentle, and kissed her forehead. "You're burning up, child, but you'll be all right. It won't be much longer."

"We've got company," Crane said, looking back towards shore though a pair of binoculars. "Four boats, I think."

Cloud struggled up in Nelson's lap to look behind, but it was still too dark for her to see anything. "You don't sound very upset!"

"I'm not," Crane smiled. "They're too far away. They'll never catch us."

"Where's your boat?" She cast around wildly, but the sea was empty. "They'll shoot us all!"

"No, they won't," Kowalski said. "We've almost reached the rendezvous coordinates and Mr. Morton's sure to be waiting."

Cloud shivered and Nelson frowned, shrugging out of his jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders. "Are you cold?"

"Yes."

"Frightened?"

"Very. Are you sure your doctor can help me?"

Nelson nodded. "Dr. Jamieson does excellent work. He'll probably remove the stitches I put in and sew you up properly, then keep you in sickbay for a few days until the infection is gone."

"Sickbay?"

"It's where you stay when you're hurt," Kowalski explained. "They take care of you and feed you Jello and stuff."

"Jello?" Cloud looked at him quizzically.

"Yeah. It's this wobbly, fruity goo. You'll like it—most kids do." Before Cloud had time to reply to this bizarre pronouncement, he continued, "Look, you see—there's Mr. Morton now!"

The ocean in front of them began to boil and froth. Kowalski cut back on the engine and they bobbed in the waves and waited as _Seaview_ surfaced before them, water streaming off her silver sides. Cloud's arms tightened around Nelson and she drew closer to him, eyes wide. "That's your boat?" she asked Crane.

"Yes and no," Lee said. "I'm _Seaview'_s captain, but she belongs to Harry—Admiral Harriman Nelson." He smiled as Cloud looked at Nelson in astonishment.

"You're an admiral?"

"Retired," Nelson said. "Mostly I'm a scientist." Cloud nodded absently, her eyes glued to _Seaview_. "You don't seem surprised."

"I figured something like that."

"You did?"

The ghost of a smile played on her lips. "It was obvious."

"Well," Nelson said, amused to hear his own words thrown back at him, "I'm glad you feel well enough to be insolent again. That's a good sign for your recovery!"

"When you're on _Seaview_, though," Crane said seriously, "you must be more respectful to the admiral and me, as well as to the crew. Pat and Ski will help you, so do what they say. Otherwise, you'll find yourself confined to sickbay for the duration of the voyage. Understand?"

Cloud nodded, her eyes still on the submarine. She could see men on deck now. Kowalski approached slowly and Patterson caught the line thrown down to them.

Chip had come out to meet them himself and the captain greeted him with a jaunty wave. Morton managed to look relieved and put-out at the same time, which Crane considered something of an accomplishment. "Permission to come aboard?" Lee took the proffered hand and swung across, relishing the feel of the familiar deck beneath his feet.

"Where have you been for three days?" Morton demanded. His quick, critical eyes studied the fading bruises on the captain's face. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, but the admiral could probably use some help with his daughter. She's wounded."

"What in the…?" Chip exclaimed, his usual _sang-froid_ abandoning him. He recovered quickly, though, and by the time Kowalski lifted Cloud up to him, he was able to say with perfect politeness, "Welcome aboard the SSRN _Seaview_, Miss Nelson."

Cloud looked at Morton suspiciously, but the pale eyes that met hers held nothing except gentle concern. She relaxed in his arms, resting her burning forehead against his throat. "Take her to Jamie as quickly as you can," she heard Harry say. Then she knew no more.

X X X

"Edith will meet us in Washington at the end of the week," Nelson said to Crane as they walked down the corridor to sickbay. After leaving the Caribbean, Nelson had set a course for the naval base at Norfolk, Virginia. They'd reached it the previous afternoon and Crane was allowing the crew to rest while they took on supplies before beginning the trip back to the Pacific. "I'll go with Cloud in the FS-1, if she's well enough. Would you like to come with us? We need to deliver the film you shot and I have appointments with Immigration and the State Department about Cloud's status." He smiled wanly. "You have no idea how hard it is to become the legal guardian of an undocumented child you stole from an unfriendly nation!"

"I can imagine, but if anyone can pull it off, you will!"

"I put in few calls and she's already been granted political asylum. I wouldn't even have brought the boat into port if there'd been a chance she'd be shipped back to Wilson!" Nelson shook his head. "That was fairly easy. Now comes the river of red tape. The immigration and child welfare agencies in DC want to meet with me and Edith, and also interview Cloud alone to make sure this is really what she wants."

"Surely you're not worried about what she'll say?"

"No, Cloud wants to be here. I'm not worried about it. It's just a difficult process for her and she's still so weak. I wish we could cruise around for a couple of weeks until she's better, but that's not practical."

"You wish you had more time with her," Crane said gently.

"Yes, that too. Still," Nelson brightened, "we have a few days." They walked in silence for a moment, then he said, "It's hard to explain how quickly you become close to someone when you share a difficult experience. Alone in the jungle, facing death together, a few days become years. I know that sounds strange."

"No, I understand. Do you remember my first cruise on the _Nautilus_, when we had that malfunction in the engine room? You and I were trapped in there for what—four or five hours?— and when we came out it was like we'd known each other all our lives."

They reached sickbay and looked in cautiously before entering, loath to wake Cloud if she was asleep. They needn't have bothered, though. Cloud was comfortably propped up, hugging a large plush shark while Kowalski read aloud. "That's an unusual friendship," Nelson said quietly.

"Not really. Ski's a good companion for her. He understands her frustration and determination." Crane sauntered into the cabin, noticing how Cloud's face lit up when she saw Nelson with him.

"How's my girl?" The admiral gave her a brisk hug and sat down near her feet. "Excuse me," he said to the stuffed shark, moving it to the side. "You're a fine fellow! Where did you come from?"

Kowalski reddened. "I went on shore today for a few things and picked him up. I thought, you know, maybe Cloud's never had one before."

"I haven't," she said. She hugged the toy close to her clean, smooth cheek, and Nelson suddenly saw her in the jungle in filthy camouflage, leaning painfully on the rifle she'd just used to kill four men. "Harry," she sat up in concern, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, pulling her close, his voice hoarse. "Absolutely nothing's wrong."


	11. Epilogue: We have left undone

**Good Men**

"_The good man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better." _John Dewey

_**Epilogue: "We have left undone…"**_

Lee tapped on the door of the admiral's cabin and let himself in without waiting for Nelson to answer. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Pour yourself a cup of coffee." Nelson was sitting at his desk, reading through a sheaf of papers.

"Letters?" Crane glanced at them as he filled a cup for himself and topped up the admiral's.

Nelson nodded. "From Edith and Cloud."

"How's Cloud doing?"

"Well enough, I think, all things considered. The doctor says her limp should go away over the next few months. The emotional adjustment's harder, though." He sighed. "Edith's been called to school twice because of fights. She said the first time it started when a girl teased Cloud because she doesn't read well yet. The second happened when a boy made fun of her accent. Both of Cloud's tormentors ended up with bloody noses."

"It's a miracle they didn't end up dead," Crane said wonderingly. "Poor Cloud. She doesn't deserve that nonsense. Kids can be cruel."

"Anyone can be cruel." Nelson took a deep breath and smiled. "It's not all trouble and woe, though. Cloud's joined a Girl Scout troop. Edith says they're going camping soon."

Crane's eyes widened. "Can you imagine what Cloud will be teaching the girls while the leader's tying square knots and toasting marshmallows? It boggles the mind!"

Nelson chuckled and turned back to the letter. "Edith writes, _Cloud is generally cooperative and helpful, but she's also moody and given to sudden outbursts of temper_." He frowned.

"Well, she is Hurricane's daughter, after all."

"Edith says it doesn't bother her too much, though, because…" Nelson broke off, his face reddening.

"Because what?"

"Because," he continued in a tight voice, "she's used to being around me."

Crane tried unsuccessfully to control a snicker. Nelson glared at him. "I've noticed there's a disturbing culture of insubordination on this boat," he said softly.

"Sorry, sir," Crane said, unrepentantly.

"Hm." Nelson put Edith's letter aside and turned to a shorter one, written in childishly printed letters. He scanned it, his expression softening.

"What does Cloud write?"

"She says she's studying hard and trying to catch up. She never realized how much there is to know. She also says Edith is as kind as I promised and very different from the women in her country." He looked up and smiled. "Cloud wants to know when 'her Harry' will come see her."

"She has you wrapped around her finger."

"I know," Nelson agreed cheerfully.

"She honored her father," Crane observed, "but it's you she loves."

"It's a strange feeling, being loved."

Nelson spoke matter-of-factly, without self-pity, but Crane felt himself going out on a limb before he even realized it. His hand seemed to move of its own volition, reaching out and grasping Nelson's arm. Words came out of his mouth before he could process what he was saying. "It shouldn't be. Maybe you just don't notice."

The admiral stared at Lee's hand, resting lightly on the sleeve of his uniform, and blinked. "Well!" he exclaimed softly.

If Crane could have sunk through the deck, he would have. He tried to draw his hand back, but Nelson covered it with his own. "Well," the admiral began again, clearing his throat, "I can see I'll have to pay better attention in the future, won't I?" He released Crane and sat back. "How about some more coffee?"

Lee jumped up, grateful to have a moment to recover his equilibrium, and poured them both fresh cups.

"You're probably wondering why I called you here," Nelson said, nodding his thanks as Crane handed him the coffee. "Do you remember Veronica Daniels?"

Crane groaned. "Not her again? She's applied to serve on _Seaview_ at least four times! Every time I point her towards the Institute she ignores me. If she's bothering you again, I'll talk to her."

"There's no need. I've decided to hire her."

"For the Institute?"

"No, for _Seaview_."

"What?" Crane bolted up in his chair. "Harry, you can't be serious? A woman serving as a permanent crew member on a submarine? I can't even imagine the problems it will cause, the pushback from the men! Why on earth would you do this when there are plenty of men who'd jump at the chance to serve?"

Crane braced himself for a blast of Nelson's temper, but the admiral's expression remained thoughtful. "_We've left undone those things we ought to have done_," he replied. "Lee, look around. Look at all we have on _Seaview_ and at the Institute. Look at all _I_ have: wealth, power, status, respect. Let me tell you something!" He pushed the cup of coffee away and rose, pacing the cabin. "When children like Cloud were being persecuted because they dared go to white schools, I watched the evening news and said, 'How appalling!' When Veronica Daniels contacted me with every credential necessary and told me it was her dream to serve on _Seaview_, I thought, 'Why can't she be realistic?' Then I turned back to my work, the work that _interested_ me. And all that time— all that time, Lee— Cloud was afraid even to grow up in her own body!"

Crane's expression was troubled. "I understand what you're saying, but I think you're being a little hard on yourself. Your work is important. It's saved thousands of lives and benefits all mankind!"

"Oh, yes, mankind! Mankind hands out awards and showers me with gratitude! Mankind pets my ego and demands so little in return— only that I keep doing the work I love and would do anyway." Nelson took a sip of coffee and when he looked at Lee again his eyes shone with a strong, clear light. "Thanks to Cloud I've awakened, like Scrooge on Christmas morning, to discover there's still time for change. Bringing Ms. Daniels onboard _Seaview_ is the first step, but there will be others. I've always been proud that the Institute is on the cutting-edge of scientific research, but it's time it took the lead in other areas, too."

"This is an experiment, then," Crane said. "When we iron out the rough spots and make it feasible for women to serve on submarines, you hope the navies of the world will follow suit."

"Exactly. They're reluctant to take the step themselves, so we'll take it for them. Are you with me?" Nelson searched Crane's face. "I can't do it without you, Lee. The crew knows I'm given to strange behavior and eccentricities, but they have complete faith in you. If you accept Ms. Daniels, they will too."

"Of course I'll support your decision," Crane said. "Did you ever really doubt me?"

X X X

That evening Chief Sharkey passed through the observation nose and found the admiral standing in darkness, gazing into the vastness of the sea. "Are you all right, sir?"

Caught unaware, Nelson flinched. "Oh, it's you. Yes… yes, I'm fine."

"Were you thinking about the last mission? The skipper said it was pretty rough."

"No," Nelson smiled. "Nothing like that. I was thinking there's no man alive with a better son than mine."

Sharkey's initial relief at the admiral's reassurances evaporated instantly. He eyed Nelson worriedly. "Begging your pardon, sir," he said, "but I'm pretty sure Miss Cloud is a girl."

"She is," Nelson agreed. "A fine girl!"

"Then," Sharkey said carefully, "I'm afraid you don't have a son, sir."

"Oh, but I do, Francis!" Nelson turned, smiling, and clapped him on the shoulder. "That's where you're wrong— I most certainly do!"

X X X

_Norway's navy was the first to allow women to serve on submarines (1985), followed by the Danish navy (1988), Sweden (1989), Australia (1998), Germany (2001), and Canada (2002). I'm sorry to say the U.S. navy didn't allow female submariners until 2011._

_Thanks so much for reading! You guys are awesome! I hope you enjoyed the story._


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